


Lambert's Journal

by Yapuwfou



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dima found the castle collection as a child and it definietely didn't help :/, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, as a tw, dimilix childhood, lambert kept a journal and we get a sneak peek, mentions of p0rn, no beta we die like Glenn, no proof-reading either we fall like Byleth Eisner, some bad parenting in this fic, sorry - Freeform, that's the fic, the other violence is not however, the tags make this sound so deep and it honestly wasn't meant to be oops, there is depiction of a sexually assaulted body but it's marked in the fic and skippable, this fic is mature for literally including everything except smut lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 48,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yapuwfou/pseuds/Yapuwfou
Summary: They found King Lambert's private journal. The council (Sylvain and Claude) think it should be read. Dimitri doesn't remember how many of his saucy secrets are inside until he sees Byleth snickering; by then it is too late.Or: Dimitri seriously loved for Felix as a child, and still did, but his father (obsessed with heirs as he was) felt the need to squash his love for the boy at its roots. However, maybe banning Dimitri from seeing Felix and making his heart grow weaker in his absence wasn't a good choice...Byleth is enjoying the drama though. Good for them.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Glenn Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [General TW: As seen in the tags, there will be mentions of violence throughout this fic; as well as gore, since it discusses the tragedy of Duscur and the uprising that earned Dimitri his title of Boar. Don’t read if this triggers you!! There is another serious TW elsewhere (which I didn’t tag because it only appears once and is skippable) and it’ll be marked out and explained so that you know when and if to skip. Also this is tagged homophobia but technically no one hates gay ppl. Lambert + Gilbert are obsessed w/ Dimitri marrying a woman for the sake of heirs so they force him to repress feelings for Felix in a way that could be reminiscent of homophobic parents (which is what earned it the TW) so if you’re very sensitive to that then obvs give this a pass. (Though it’s more Lambert vs the world than Dimitri vs homophobia since Lamby’s plans to heteroize his son are always thwarted). But I just thought I’d clarify it for ppl confused. :3]

The war was over, but most of the council met as usual to discuss an interesting artefact recently uncovered in Fhirdiad. Gilbert had spluttered that what the servants had found under the rubble was best left unread, whilst Claude argued – whether out of morbid curiosity for its contents, or because he actually believed in what he was saying – that they should read at least some of it. He claimed that, surely, it held details of politics of the past, which could help Dimitri understand the current political and social environment better. Sylvain – who was definitely invested out of some crude hope to find something incredibly personal and/or incriminating – agreed glibly for obvious reasons.

Lambert’s Journal – a thick, brown book – lay vulnerably on the table. A compromise was made where the professor would skim it first, to check if it was really some sort of detached, official journal, or whether it was private. If so, it was to be left solely to Dimitri.

The professor opened it to the first page, and began reading.

-

20th Ethereal Moon

Today was the ninth anniversary of the lovely son’s birth. He has been very well behaved all day, and has impressed his friends with his good manners. He wore a blue flower crown, which was made for him by Rodrigue’s younger son, and was very pleased to show it off to the castle staff. He insisted that he will somehow keep it fresh forever, but of course it will wither and die, as all good things. I have dismantled the crown in his sleep and left a few of the blue lilies in between thick books’ pages, in the hopes that they will keep equally pretty once pressed. Dimitri was awfully fond of them.

25th Ethereal Moon

Dimitri has made a habit of kissing the flowers every morning, which has alarmed a lot of the guards. But, after making sure that the lilies aren’t poisonous, we have left him to continue his daily ritual. His favourite maid, Cleo, has relayed to me that he insists they are full of Rodrigue’s younger son’s love for him, and that kissing them makes his day infinitely better. It is a sweet sentiment.

29th Ethereal Moon

For the last few days Dimitri has insisted on training with Glenn whilst he is here, stating that he must “become a knight worthy of Felix’s hand in marriage.” Cleo recalled this fondly, giggling as she said it, assuring the rest of the staff, as well as myself, that the young prince has no idea what he is saying. Glenn has assumed much the same thing.

Yet I cannot help but worry. The future king must provide his kingdom with heirs. I would love to lead Faerghus into an age where such a thing is not a necessity; but a crest is a crest, and Blaiddyd’s cannot die. Martha, another maid, shares my fears and has told me that she will explain to Dimitri clearly that he cannot marry Felix. She will do so promptly tomorrow.

30th Ethereal Moon

Martha came to me this evening looking awfully apologetic. She tells me that she met with Dimitri after his training, and told him that he cannot marry Felix. My son supposedly teared up, stating that he is aware of his weaknesses, but will become worthy of his friend. It pains me to believe that after all I have taught him about restraint, he can still find it so challenging to remain stoic. But the perceived insult to his strength was just a misunderstanding of course.

Martha did not stop. She told him curtly that he is not to marry a man, or the Blaiddyd line will perish, cease to exist entirely, and all of Faerghus will suffer. He would not accept her argument however, because he does not see the issue, as he is not acquainted with sex or how babies are born. She has stated that she does not wish to ruin his innocence, but I feel it necessary to wake him from this dream, and so I will teach him myself.

2nd Guardian Moon

I finally got around to having the conversation with my son. Being a young child, he wouldn’t be able to grasp such a broad topic if explained in abstract terms. Therefore, it was necessary to spend some time to gather illustrations of the human genitalia in order to explain them.

I laid them out for him to see and explained their relationship to each other, and to the production of children. Once I had explored male and female biological functions with him, I asked if he had any questions, since he had been awfully silent this entire time.

He asked me if penises got a _lot_ bigger when erect.

I said yes.

He then looked at me innocently and asked if they got bigger “than a poopoo”.

To which I explained that they could, but not an awful lot bigger than a large one.

He then had the audacity to stand up delighted and exclaim that it did not matter that his friend did not have a Vagina, as Felix had an anus and he would “bugger him there” if he could “fit snugly like a poopoo”. (I only wish I was paraphrasing. I must find whatever servant has taught him this foul language and throw them out of the capital immediately). I told him that the goddess would be appalled. I told him that he is acting like a spoiled child and that spoiled princes don’t get to go to Ingrid’s upcoming birthday. He cried (for which I admonished him) and then quietened down.

And that, I say, is the end of that.

4th Guardian Moon

Dimitri was allowed to go to Ingrid’s birthday on the condition that he stop acting like a delinquent. He had agreed and kept his promise. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing Ingrid and Sylvain but, as expected, his conversations with Felix were rather stilted. It made the latter lash out at him at one point, claiming that Dimitri was acting like he had the plague. I watched my son carefully in this moment, and watched as he glanced over at me before jumping at the eye contact, and then simply denied Felix’s claim. I then ended up having an engaging conversation with Count Galatea and promptly forgot to keep my eyes on my son, and in an instant, both he and Felix had disappeared.

As soon as I realised this I began to panic; I did my best to mask it, as neither Count Galatea, nor Rodrigue, knew of my son’s nature, and I endeavoured to keep it that way. So I began a frenzied search around the property until I found them: Felix lying on the grass, his hand in Dimitri’s, who was seated. Dimitri clutched it close to his heart and talked to him bashfully.

“I was just shy I promise!!”

“Why would you be shy when we’re already best friends?”

“Because…” He paused tentatively, as if he was basking in the atmosphere, “Because you’re so beautiful~” He said, closing his eyes and pulling Felix’s smaller hand to his mouth to kiss. “And so soft~…”

Felix giggled and Dimitri’s eyes shot open to devour the sight of it. (Which, admittedly, was not a lot. Of course, this only made his urgency to savour it more suspect.)

“I wish I could cuddle you to sleep every day, like I do here!”

 _He’s been doing what?!_ I thought.

“I wish I could wake up holding your hand every morning and give you lots of morning kisses!”

_Has he been doing that too?!_

“Mhmm.” Felix hummed lazily, “I like morning kisses too… It makes me feel all happy and like,, like that fat cat Joshua!”

They both laughed childishly, I assume, at the idea of Felix being a beloved, overly-fed cat. An animal on the receiving end of many kisses.

Kisses. Oh Goddess.

It occurred to me suddenly that the problem was more serious than anticipated. His attempt at “marriage” was not a mistake. Dimitri didn’t sit up to get a good look at Ingrid or Sylvain or Glenn when they lay down on the grass, but he eyed Felix with a hunger reserved for his favourite cheese.

Rodrigue did not notice, as I had not for many years, and walked up to them, ruffling my son’s hair when in range.

“Your father was worried, your highness! You mustn’t run off! You too Felix, that’s our one and only prince!”

“We could have two...” Dimitri trailed off, eyeing Felix suggestively. I’d hoped he’d have the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself.

“We won’t.” I snapped.

Rodrigue had then said something nostalgic in tone, akin to “You really loved your old wife, didn’t you?”

I was confused at first, and then realised that he had mistaken Dimitri’s attempt at courting his son for a request that I remarry and provide him with a brother.

I agreed, for ease of explanation.

But now Dimitri had broken his promise. And now he was coming home.

The first half of the carriage journey was silent. Eventually, my son broke this silence by asking tentatively, “Are you angry father?”

“Yes.” I said. “You didn’t keep your promise. You acted out of line.”

“I only wanted to show Felix that he was still my friend. He said I was acting weird. He ran to Sylvain crying,” at this point Dimitri’s face scrunched up; his eyes became glassy as he schooled his expression, “I don’t want him to cry on Sylvain, if he’s sad I want him to come to me. I want to protect him. I don’t want him near Sylvain.”

I felt a storm of fear within me; my heart gripped by anxiety and replaced with a clump of jagged ice. The frosted mist it emitted froze me from the inside out. I did my best to hide any frown or glare, not wanting to intimidate him, as I could not have him hide the truth from me.

“Are you jealous of Sylvain’s friendship with Felix?”

“No!” He said quickly, guiltily. “Felix can be anyone’s friend.”

“Then why does it bother you if Sylvain comforts him?”

He considered this, cocking his head to the side, “Because it makes Sylvain special… Because _only_ Sylvain gets to see Felix crying. And I don’t-… I don’t want Sylvain to be Felix’s special person.”

He paused for a moment before quietly affirming,

“I want to be it.”

“What if it was Ingrid?” I asked with a cruel sense of foreboding, “What if Felix let her see him cry?”

“That wouldn’t matter,” he said decisively, “because Ingrid already has Glenn.”

We didn’t talk after that.

In conclusion, my day was horrendous. It has been determined that Dimitri holds a burning torch for Felix, and is unable to let it go. Dimitri has caught unnecessary _feelings_ , and we must set him straight.

-

“Ha.” The professor exhaled, their almost impassive face betraying nothing more than slight fondness. “Straight.”

-

7th Guardian Moon

I hadn’t, until today, wondered where Dimitri had come across the word ‘bugger’ before. Not that I’d really _wondered_ today either; but I found my answer all the same. Books. Pornographic books. Some littered with images, others exploring various sexual fantasies only in writing. I had no idea who had written them – they were mostly nameless, coverless (hopefully not from frequent use), and so old I could not recognise the names of any authors who’d actually been given credit. I had even less of an idea as to how they had ended up in the castle library’s possession. One thing was for certain, however: Dimitri must have been influenced by them. I was sure of it.

He claimed to have found the first one he read near some of the knight’s tales, and had glossed over it without much thought. It was when he was looking for the tale of Kyphon and Loog, and he stumbled across one with _images,_ that he began to consider if what was depicted was _knightly behaviour_ that he should become acquainted with.

I told him that it absolutely wasn’t, and that he should marry any woman he intends to bed. And you would not believe, or perhaps you would, what this small, loving boy said.

He said:

“Don’t worry father, I _intend_ to marry Felix!”

I was now incredibly angry, and I explained for the umpteenth time that he could _not_ marry a man, and therefore could not marry Felix.

“But you can father!” He then said, pulling a book out from underneath his bed and flicking through it to find the appropriate (if such a word can be used) page, “See! He’s put his penis in that other man’s anus! And he’s fine! He says it’s nice father! I’m going to make Felix-”

I slapped the book out of his hands in fear, and pushed Dimitri aside to look under his bed.

I had entered the room assuming that he’d read only one book. You see, the castle staff caught him returning an odd book to the library this morning and, not recognising the title, they went to take a gander at what he had shelved. They claimed they had been curious as they’d never seen him with this title before; however, what they found was so appalling that they were forced to alert my chamberlain.

Who, of course, reported this to me.

It was only after I began questioning my dear son that I came to find he had read _two_ books of this… genre.

And it was not until this moment that it had seemed even vaguely possible for him to have _more_ of these.

And yet…

Seeing the underneath of the bed made years crumble off the end of my life. There were so many books, some very short, some longer (perhaps a series of these images, like compilations of fairy tales) and as I tore each one out from under the bed and peered through their pages, I felt myself whiten more, and more, and more.

I got to the end of the pile. They were all lurid, disgusting. All of them homoerotic. I didn’t even know that the castle boasted such a collection of them. I will burn them.

I sat beside the pile of books, kneeling on the floor; hands on my lap, blood drained from my face, possibly forever, I took a heavy gulp of saliva.

“How-” I wasn’t sure how to ask it, but I had to know why he kept going back to read them. I wanted to know why he defied me. I wanted to know how tempted by them he was. “How does reading them make you feel?”

I got an answer. I didn’t like it.

He tried to explain sheepishly how every time he read one of these books he would feel aroused (“Warm… and wanting what they have…”), how he desperately wanted to plunge into somebody the same way they did (“I kept thinking… when I’m older… I wanna… I wanna put my peenie in Felix,,, and I want to hear the noises they talked about…”), and that he would take breaks from reading, having become too “Sweaty and cold but warm” to keep reading, “so I imagine what I really, _really_ want… but,,, then,,, he isn’t _really_ there, so,, I-,, I keep feeling like I need something real, so then I,, you see,,, I go back to reading,,”.

Disgusting.

Perhaps I would expect it from a teenager. But from my charming son who has just turned nine? Never. There is clearly something very wrong with him. For that reason, I am going to ban him from seeing Felix.

He won’t see him again until he forgets what he looks like.

Until he cannot imagine the boy underneath him.

I think I ought to send him to counselling too.

-

The professor reread this section to try to gather more of the story.

Dimitri didn’t really seem, in their opinion, half as horny as Lambert thought he was; he was just intrigued, and childishly excited, or bashful. The direct quotes from little Dimitri contrasted heavily with Lambert’s…. _creative interpretations_ of them. Dimitri wasn’t going wild, he just wanted to make Felix… _happy_ ….

With his peenie.

The professor let out another nose exhale and muttered, “He’s just a silly baby.”

A little fond pause.

“Ha. Peenie.”

-

8th Guardian Moon

I lit a bonfire today. The fuel was solely based of those homoerotic pornographic novels that had infected Dimitri. He looked awfully upset, as if watching the death of a friend.

That little bastard.

I shouldn’t blame Felix, but he’s a rat, a little brown-eyed, blue rat. He’s tempting my son somehow; he wanted Felix even before the porn, at least according to the un-princely wails he produced as I poured oil over the offending books.

I don’t know what about that little brat has bewitched my poor, beloved, sweet son; but I will find out. If counselling proves fruitless, I will have that toad burnt at the stake. Rodrigue will understand. He already has Glenn anyway. He has no real need for a second son.

-

The professor’s eyes widened.

“Well! ... He’s gonna go from burning porn to burning Felix.” They mumbled sardonically.

“What?!”

The professor looked up to the make quick eye contact with Felix.

“Oh no nothing.” They dismissed and went back to reading.

-

15th Guardian Moon

Counselling has been going well. Dimitri is upset that he cannot see Felix, but I have assured him that once his illness is gone he will see him once more.

He has not asked to marry him again, and so I believe that the incident has been dealt with.

-

The professor skipped through a few pages that contained nothing except reassurances that the above was absolutely true.

-

21st Pegasus Moon

Yesterday was Felix’s birthday. I did not feel confident letting Dimitri see the boy so soon, but his counselling has been going so well, that I didn’t have a reason to oppose the visit to Fraldarius.

Whilst I wanted to talk pointlessly with Rodrigue, and Margrave Gautier, and Count Galatea, I also made sure to keep a keen eye on my son the whole time.

Aside from holding Felix’s hand slightly longer than normal when receiving a handshake, he behaved exceptionally.

Rodrigue offered to let us stay in the castle, but I insisted that I could make it back to Faerghus in a day, and that there was no need to keep us. I reminded him of some recent document I had been working on, as an excuse, and he kindly promised to come to the Faerghus capital himself sometime to help me.

Very kind of him. Rodridue is a good friend to me. It would be a shame to have to execute his son.

Thankfully, the day was rather uneventful.

Dimitri looked quite sombre on the way back, but insisted that “I had a good time father”, so all is well.

-

The professor skipped ahead once more.

-

13th Lone Moon

An unremarkable day. Sunny, bright, warm.

Dimitri went to his weekly counselling session today, and his counsellor has explained that he has grown an awful lot. Almost as if he had never harboured any misplaced affections in the first place.

I was glad to hear it.

-

They gave their head a scratch, and turned half of the book upwards, letting the pages spill from one cover to another, before resting it back on the table and skimming the page it landed on.

Marketing schemes. _Boring_. Land planning. _Boring_.

Of course those were _exactly_ the things they had been hoping to find in Lambert’s journal (supposedly) but… There were much more interesting things to be learnt about now than agriculture.

 _Finally_ , they found a saucy looking entry.

-

27th Ethereal Moon

Dimitri was caught doing the unthinkable by Martha.

-

_Goodie._

-

It is too traumatic even to write. I had wished and wished, as Martha retold the story, for it to be false. Old age. Bad hearing. But it was not so!

My son, so seemingly cured from his _afflictions,_ was caught _masturbating_ in his room.

“It was almost sweet,” Martha had begun, “I caught him panting on his bed, half under the covers, facing the wall with only his little red ears facing me, and I thought ‘he’s really grown hasn’t he? Even got his manly urges’. So I thought I’d best leave him alone, but then I heard it, I did.”

And this is the part which had me crumpling in on myself like a puppet with its strings cut, falling apart like house in a hurricane.

“I heard him whimper… and he said ‘Felix’… He was all breathy, and I thought I heard wrong. But then he started complimenting him, like he was right!.... Right there! ‘You’re so good for me Felix’ he said! I didn’t know what to do!”

So she did what any confused but respected servant woman would do, and requested an audience with me, to explain the situation behind Dimitri’s back.

It appears that everything he shows to his counsellor is a lie, a mask. I wonder how much of my son I actually know? How much of it is a beast, twisted by a sickening devotion to that blue rat? How many of my memories of him are complete and utter lies?

I will tell his counsellor about this. They will be the one to tell Dimitri that all of Blaiddyd castle know his misstep. They will be the one to correct him.

-

After reading this extract the professor backtracked to the last recorded birthday,

‘20th Ethereal Moon

My son’s 12th anniversary of birth’

It was unnecessarily wordy, as was the rest of his dialogue, but it told the Professor what they needed to know. So they went back to where they had left off.

-

28th Ethereal Moon

After lunch, I took my son to a secluded area, and let Dimitri know that he’d been caught red handed. He looked absolutely shocked; but this quickly melted into tangible shame, and rightfully so.

I asked him how much of what he told his counsellor was a lie, and how often his indecent thoughts drifted to a boy he shouldn’t want.

In that dark corridor - a dim passageway to the training grounds where no extra ears could be hidden - he told me everything.

How Felix infiltrated his every thought. How everything he did was tinged with memories of this boy. How every act was fuelled by his desire to “make this for Felix”, “show this to Felix”, “dress in this way for Felix”. How he desperately wanted to have Felix’s opinion on everything. On every new skill, on each new dance move. He lived not for himself, or for his country, but for the moments in which he could relish in the feeling of knowing that he has made Felix happy.

In the end, regrettably, I was forced to dismiss him and inform him to find me after dinner, as I had been baffled into silence.

All afternoon I sat at my desk brainstorming. Rodrigue always had a handful of fond stories of both of his sons, and killing Felix might kill his trust in me. Or at least, it could drive us apart, even if he understood the need for such punishment.

In the end, I turned my attention to those books that Dimitri had once found as a child. I’d burned them all (I hope), but images so traumatic must have burned themselves into Dimitri’s skull.

For this reason, I declared to my chamberlain that normal, safe pornography must be gathered in large quantities for Dimitri’s sake. He alerted various servants who collated works from both the library’s possession and merchants’ wares. By evening, it was compiled and ready for Dimitri.

He now has plenty of new material to keep his mind off of Felix.

I can only hope that this is enough.

29th Ethereal Moon

From what I’ve heard from my chamberlain: the maids, who have been ordered to pay close attention to my son, have not heard Dimitri engage in any manner of sexual activity at all today. Whether or not this is unusual is unknown. Since we do not know how regularly he indulged in _memories_ of the blue rat before now.

I assume therefore that they were infrequent and that, should there be another incident, it won’t occur for some time now.

Still I have asked my chamberlain to pass the message onto the staff to remain vigilant.

Especially as Ingrid’s birthday approaches.

5th Guardian Moon

Knowing that the rat would be invited to Galatea’s birthday celebration if not for my interference, I ordered Rodrigue to leave Felix at home in advance. I could not come up with an excuse, and so said only that I would explain in time if need be.

Rodrigue, as usual, complied without question. Neither he nor Glenn appeared wary or disappointed, which was good.

Due to the distinct lack of rats, Dimitri was also well behaved, if a little sombre.

We travelled back to Fhirdiad on the same day, leaving me too tired to write up this report yesterday evening.

And so I write it today instead, since nothing personal of consequence occurred more recently.

7th Guardian Moon

Dimitri has only been heard masturbating once so far since my last report on the topic. No name could be heard. A good start. However, I realised that it was entirely possible that he noticed my efforts to monitor him and was staying silent.

For that reason, I joined him in his counselling session. The counsellor wasn’t very happy with me, and said that it was important that I wasn’t there so that she could be impartial with Dimitri (I assume she meant she could admonish royalty without fear or repercussions, so I reassured her that whatever punishments she had in mind would be wonderfully received). She also stated that confidentiality was important so that Dimitri wouldn’t feel pressured into lying. If only she knew.

So I pushed on anyway.

Dimitri, in her defence, did appear more tense in my presence, but I told him to speak with her as always, to which he glanced over at her shyly, and she nodded with confidence.

Dimitri spoke of how he has been dealing with his separation of Felix: that he was quite sad that I don’t trust him to behave around his friend, and that he has far greater faith in himself, believing in his ability to push Felix out of mind.

So I interrupted the session to ask about the slip up, to see if he’d told her, and he explained that he indeed had let her know about it, and had asked for help.

She interrupted here to explore the exercises she’d prescribed for him in order to forget about his attraction to the blue rat.

I was quite impressed and am glad that Dimitri is being honest with his counsellor. I have a bit more faith that this was perhaps just a singular unlucky incident.

8th Guardian Moon

I was quite pleased with what I heard yesterday, nonetheless, I asked Gustave for a second opinion as something seemed… off. Almost as if Dimitri’s case was too perfect…

Gustave said that he felt much the same, and that, as king, I had the power to force his counsellor to hand over her journal to check what Dimitri has said over the years.

It seems rather unjust to abuse my power to pry, but this is a necessary evil.

15th Guardian Moon

The past days have been eventful. The counsellor refused to give up her documents, stating that the law protects the privacy of each of her patients.

It was a long battle, but in the end I resorted to calling in my battalion and stating that disobeying my direct order would be treason.

She gave in her papers on Dimitri.

Gustave and I ran through them all ravenously without sleep, whilst she awaited her trial under house arrest.

To summarise: though she was called in to cure Dimitri, she has been promoting lying, and his infidelity to the crown. She has been teaching him how to hide his affections from me and what lines to use when caught.

It also appears that, for the most part, Dimitri used these occasions to converse with someone sympathetic to his situation, and gain advice for the future of his choosing. Claiming that if he wanted to destabilise the crest system, marrying someone for love and adopting crestless orphans would be a great way to promote the idea to the masses. “Be the change you want to see.”

It’s far more complicated than that, and silly delusions such as these have almost dethroned my future grandsons.

I would have had her executed for treason for that reason but Dimitri begged and, to my utter disapproval, _argued_ with me until I could take no more of the hysteria and merely banished her from the capital.

At the very least, she has provided me with evidence of my son’s true beliefs, over the years of conspiring with him, and Gustave and I will use them to further our understanding of his condition.

Gustave has been given the job of counselling him now. He has been given all of the documents and will question Dimitri on all of it. One step at a time.

We hope to make him sick of his own affections, until he can’t stand to say the rat’s name, let alone moan it.

17th Guardian Moon

Gustave counselled my son for the first time today. He was apparently not very engaged, and frequently refused to give information. Unacceptable.

I will have to seriously consider Felix’s death at this rate.

20rd Guardian Moon

I recently wrote to Rodrigue and finally filled him in on the situation. I told him not to inform Glenn or Felix that his youngest son is awaiting execution. He will be burnt publicly upon his coming of age, to be made an example of. I can only hope that such a cruel punishment will promote the idea of some heinous crime being committed by the rat; that some dark magic was being used against the prince. This should shield him from any judgement that he should say something out of line.

The duke’s response arrived today, and I have archived it here.

It is heart breaking; alas, the blue rat is a small price to pay for peace in Fodlan. Besides I have decided to take Rodrigue’s pleas into account; Felix will not be terminated if Dimitri is cured.

-

The professor pulled out a piece of neatly folded paper. Despite its age, it had evidently been left untouched after its first reading, as it bore few imperfections and the ink remained almost entirely un-smudged.

The professor read.

> ‘Your Majesty,
> 
> As your humble servant I hope you understand that I have no right to argue with you, especially when your intentions are clear, and your fears justified. So I will not argue. Nevertheless, as you well know, Felix is incredibly important to me. More important than I could hope to express in mere words.’

Here, a few of the imperfections in the paper were recognisable not as random crinkles, but as tear marks. The professor noted quite a few of them, as if the letter had been through light rain. In the months they had known him, Rodrigue had never appeared emotional. He reined everything in, and held himself so nobly that they could understand why Felix considered him insufferable.

To cry on paper, and then send this letter with his weakness painted all over it, it didn’t make sense. Unless either: he was so overwhelmed he didn’t even notice himself crying, or the letter brought him such pain that he couldn’t bear to make a second attempt.

Or maybe he had made other copies, the professor pondered, and maybe he’d cried more on his first. Perhaps he’d rambled on and on for pages, begged and begged and cried, until he’d pulled out a final page and settled for ‘Felix is incredibly important to me’ washed pure and raw with tear stains.

> ‘Felix has many plans for the future and, as his father, it brings me unspeakable agony to know that I must pretend to lead him towards a life of his choosing whilst knowingly dragging him to his grave. I cannot imagine eating dinner and reminding the little scamp of his table manners without suddenly remembering that he will never grow enough to show them off. I cannot imagine sitting opposite him and not trying to commit him to memory before he is gone forever.
> 
> Life is already so fleeting and so short, sometimes Glenn surprises me simply by being so much older than I remember him being years ago. It feels like I blink and a year has already passed. I am afraid to even sleep should I bring my son’s death ever closer.
> 
> But, of course, I can only imagine that similar pains must have urged you to make this decision. I trust that it is not one you made rashly, my friend. As I have understood, you are continuing your efforts to aid his highness. I wish both Gustave and yourself all the luck and strength in the world for this endeavour. Indeed, if I may ask for any one thing at all, I implore you to keep close record of his highness’ progress.
> 
> Please, if he is cured before Felix’s time, allow him the freedom to live the life he planned for himself.
> 
> Yours faithfully,
> 
> Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius’

The professor folded it back up neatly, and slid it back in between the pages. They turned the page and continued to read the journal where they’d left off.

-

23th Guardian Moon

I woke up this morning at a good time; I made good progress on all my reports and the castle ran as smoothly as ever.

Until Martha came running up the stairs to my office.

“Your majesty!” She cried whilst ascending the stairs, and then repeated it from outside my door, “Your majesty! His highness is regressing!”

I tore myself from my work, threw open the door, and flew down the stairs. Martha turned around and followed my lead as I made my way to Dimitri’s room. Martha had not said where she had found him, but she had not stopped me from taking the nearest route to his room either, so I knew my instincts were correct.

I burst through the door to find Dimitri sitting on the floor, awkwardly leaning on his bed, as if he’d had only a second to look discreet. Cleo stood near his bookshelves, dusting with a small cloth.

A handkerchief.

So she had not come in prepared to dust.

Martha seemed to guess as much. “What are you hiding?!” She yelled, heedless of my presence.

“Why, me?” Cleo spun to face us innocently, holding that handkerchief in a tense hand, “I came in to clean up the room and then I noticed the dust, see.” She gestured to the shelves, “I don’t like to leave my work half-done so I thought to dust, and then realised that I didn’t have my cleaning equipment.” She gave a shy smile. “I just wanted to get the job done quickly, so I used my handkerchief, but I thought Martha was gonna get mad at me for not using my duster instead so I tried to hide it. It is freshly washed and clean though!”

Her guilty smile strengthened a little as she held a corner of her handkerchief in each hand and shook the excess dust out energetically to reveal pristine, white cloth beneath the layers of dirt.

“Oh, that’s no problem!” I had said, readily able to dismiss the little misunderstanding when Martha spoke up from where she stood, fuming, beside me.

“That doesn’t explain how those charming alterations to the safe books his majesty brought for his son have been hidden from view.”

“Alterations?” I inquired.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about~” Cleo said, sporting a shiny, wide smile, and suddenly I was reminded of Dimitri’s counsellor.

“You are lying to me, Cleo?” It was a heavy accusation. Lying to a king.

Martha turned her nose up at Cleo and, before the younger maid could strike back, Dimitri shot up in alarm. This too reminded me of his behaviour around his counsellor’s exile.

What didn’t was his readiness to comply.

“Cleo tells nothing but the absolute truth father! However, Martha earlier saw something that - as she has already seen it, and called you - I cannot deny.” He licked his lips and brought his hands together, picking at the skin on his thumbs meticulously. “I tried to hide the evidence, and called Cleo in to clean up my room after doing so. She has done nothing except her duty and the extra job that I have burdened her with. She cannot know that I have hidden something as she never saw me hide it.” He turned towards her and nodded at her jerkily, “I’m sorry Cleo, you are dismissed.”

I said nothing. The surprise on Cleo’s face made it real to me. Besides, she seemed far too naïve to lie convincingly. There was pity etched onto her face before she turned towards the door, bowed to me, and stalked past, but she had always had a soft spot for Dimitri. I had no doubt that she merely related to my son in that moment, being a woman who worked under Martha, who would most likely nag at her parentally.

As soon as she was out of earshot I turned to him, keeping my rage in check. Awaiting immense disappointment. How, yet, I was not sure.

“What did you try to hide?” I thought back to Martha’s accusation. “Alterations?”

Dimitri opened his mouth, a think strand of saliva connected his top row of teeth to his bottom. As I looked closer, I noticed his eyes looked glassy. He had yet to master his emotions. Not crying was a start all those years ago. But he still looked as if he’d sobbed for hours, even if not a noise had left him.

He closed his mouth having said nothing and hovered slowly over to the bookshelf Cleo had been dusting, like a wraith. He pulled out a few tomes and then, with a stuttered breath, reached further back to pull out a thinner book which had been placed with its side against the back of the bookshelf (as opposed to the pages) behind the previous books. He handed it to me.

“And the others.” Martha said gruffly, and he went back to pull out more books and remove more, not-so-discreetly-hidden volumes.

The book he handed me was one of the _safe_ pornography collections I had given him. This one, in particular, illustrated.

“I believe it would be wise to scan its contents your majesty for I believe-”

I didn’t need to be told anymore, nor did I have to look very far.

The very first page depicted a women being entered by a man. She looked shy, and extra blush had been scribbled onto the face to make her look even more anxious and new to it. The man had been left untouched by colouring. It was only the woman that had been altered.

The blush was the least incriminating part of it.

The page had been carefully torn so that a thin layer of the page around her breasts had been removed, and the chest was redrawn, masculine, flatter, and muscular underneath it. The charcoal had evidently been erased and redone multiple times. What my son had hoped to recreate, he had sought to recreate with some semblance of professionalism. And even though it was clear that the alterations were not produced by someone of the same skill of the original artist, they blended in spectacularly. This clearly wasn’t the first book he had personalised.

Where the penis had been inserted in the woman’s vagina had also been given treatment. Over the top of the lines meant to illustrate her clitoris, testicles were drawn boldly, and above those, another erect penis to match the man’s.

This, in and of itself, should have been the worst of it. Dimitri wishing to insert himself into a male’s body so restlessly that he could not even stand the idea of sex with a woman in general. Was this not what I feared when I came to find out about my son’s feelings? Even so, the extra detail to the woman’s features angered me even more than the fact that she was now a man.

Her long hair had been coloured in a dark navy, as had her eyebrows. Her eyes, which were turned to face the reader, were now a dark amber.

“This is Felix.” I stated. There was no question. “You defaced what _I_ brought you to continue to seek pleasure from your _memory_ of _Felix_.”

“I am sorry father.” Dimitri said, standing tall but facing the bookshelf still.

“Look at me!” I snapped. His eyes found mine, though his head did not move beyond the continuous shallow trembling.

“Do you expect corporeal punishment?” He still did not turn. “You will receive it if you do not face me like a man head on.”

He took a step back whilst turning. His head was now bowed.

“Look. At. Me.”

He did so through his bangs, as if keeping his head low could shield him from the back of my hand.

“This is Felix.”

“It is.” He said with a small voice.

“Why?”

He stayed silent for a substantial amount of time. It was only clear that he was in fact thinking because every time I’d begin to speak he’d open his mouth with some sort of filler, and then close it with a whine. His eyes were still glassy, constantly flickering across the floor.

“I think-…” He took a chocked breath, “He’s very beautiful. And he’s already my best friend, so he’s already so… close…”

“What if we found you a nice lovely girl who looks like him? Hm~?” I’d forgotten that Martha was there until then.

“Yes! We can try that!” Dimitri agreed hastily. He was trying to get out of trouble, but, in the end, isn’t punishment meant to be about learning? If he has learnt his lesson then he should be rewarded.

Gustave and I share some doubts to the success of introducing the prince to women of a likeness to the blue rat due to his decision to change the genitalia of the illustration. Nonetheless, if Dimitri is at least pleased _enough_ that he finds the inspiration to take a wife, then I can rest peacefully.

24th Guardian Moon

Today was Dimitri’s second counselling session with Gustave. It appears that after being caught red-handed, he has let down a considerable amount of walls.

It gives me great hope for his future.

-

Here the professor pulled out another folded parchment which had been slid into the book.

**[Cringe TW: Boomer talking about hetero sex. Viewer discretion is advised.]**

> ‘HIS HIGHNESS’S COUNSELLING REPORT
> 
> His highness and I discussed his dedication to defacing the books you gifted to him. From what I have gathered, his highness’ fascination with Felix is heavily dependent on his physical appearance; this fills me with joy, as it seems likely, therefore, that a plan to find a similar-looking woman might cure his highness entirely.
> 
> In terms of personality, he seems keen on Felix’s clinginess, and his desire to spend every minute with his highness. Though he also showed a somewhat possessive side, claiming that he would want Felix to trust him unconditionally, and no one but him.
> 
> We then discussed, quite awkwardly I must admit, the act of lovemaking, specifically between a man and woman. I shared my own experiences with my wife, the joy of being able to feel her inside out. The joy of being given pleasure from a tight, feminine wetness which a man could not hope to reproduce. I made him understand that women are made by the goddess as objects of pleasure and vessels for children. To take out your carnal desires on a man, instead of using a woman, would dishonour every one of them in the kingdom. Besides, one should not miss the experience of sliding in and out of your beloved, knowing that you will be gifted a child.’

Upon reading this paragraph the professor turned slowly to face Gilbert, and gave him a look of general displeasure which morphed into a cringe as they re-read it. Gilbert. _That_ Gilbert shared his own experiences in bed?? With what enthusiasm?? Was he as passionate in bed as he was in real life?? They should hope not.

They weren’t even going to delve into the generally discomforting exploration of “women’s purpose”. _Yuck_.

Was it possible for Gilbert to have said that with a straight face? Who was this experience more uncomfortable for, Gilbert or Dimitri?

> ‘Annette is, to me, the greatest gift the goddess could have given; I made sure that he knew this.
> 
> My overall aim for the session was to create a profile for his highness’ future wife, as well as inspire him with the benevolence of the goddess, and how she knows that, as animals, all we should want and need are children. It seems that he has better grasped the gravity in his decision to marry a man, and how it would exclude him from such a vibrant and brilliant present. Why, would he not be unborn if not for his own father’s love of nature and the goddess?
> 
> I sense much more hesitance in his “love” for Felix, as if he is now weighing the uncertain “love” he holds for the boy, and the life he’ll certainly lose for it.
> 
> I hope this pleases you, your majesty, as much as it did me.’

The professor tucked it back in its place between the pages with a blank look on their face. Gilbert, possibly recognising the writing - or the letter in its entirety, cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should stop reading if this is personal.”

Sylvain’s head whipped up upon hearing ‘personal’. He twisted to face the professor and, as their eyes met, the professor was sure that they silently screamed the same thing: _absolutely not._

“It _is_ quite personal.” The professor chimed in a little too quickly. “However,” they unfolded the report and pointed at the requirements for Dimitri’s future wife, “I think this is all important information. It is crucial to learn as much about Dimitri’s… condition as possible, if permissible.”

Dimitri hummed in confusion alongside Ingrid and Felix who did not imagine that _condition_ could be used in tandem with _Dimitri_ and not be alluding to his ghosts. Which _they_ knew were most definitely _not_ with Dimitri pre-tragedy, i.e. when this journal was written.

Still, none came forward with a rebuttal.

Claude definitely smelt the fish, having shot Sylvain an unreadable glance, but whilst Mercedes and Annette also gave each other a look, it was hard to know their thoughts. Annette turned something over in her head and smiled, though not nearly as villainously as Sylvian was starting to, and whispered something to Mercedes. It wasn’t loud enough to be intelligible but it was quite audible, and an army of voices broke out following the momentary lapse in the silence.

Sylvain asking the professor a plethora of questions, and Ingrid shooting them down, made up most of the talking, though Claude’s mumbling also contributed. Felix hissed something harshly at the king, and Dimitri shrugged. Felix read as some sort of challenge, and the two argued under the cloak of noise.

As quickly the pall of murmuring rose, it was dispersed by Gilbert’s loud ‘A _hem_.’

“I do concur with this analysis professor. I am quite glad that you treat this seriously.” He had the nerve to look genuinely worried. “It is best you understand everything in great detail, so that you may dole out any necessary… _punishments_ if things are not cured. As I fear there is a chance they may not be.”

 _So killing Felix is still on the table._ The professor thought, and shot Felix – who was not even looking in their direction – a pitying glance.

“We’ll work out what’s really _necessary_ once I’ve gathered more of the situation.” They stated aloud, tucking the parchment back into the journal with a sense of finality, and jumping straight back into the text.

-

30th Guardian Moon

Today my son met a young woman.

She was not exactly a carbon copy of Felix. But when a man came forward with a woman who looked very similar to the rat, I could not agree to a meeting faster.

It had been merely days since the word was spread, but it had felt like an eternity until she’d arrived in my audience chambers with her father. I’d sent word to noble houses that the prince is looking for a potential fiancé of a specific physical description. I then had extra copies of the flier given to each servant tasked with delivering them; they were to them to show them to any worthy merchants they found on the way to their delivery. Since I could not exhaust my scribes too much, they only received one extra each. I informed them to only hand _over_ the flier to families that could present them with a woman that looked like the rat _immediately_ , so as not to fall for any trickery.

They were sent out promptly on the 25th, after preparations on the 24th.

On the 29th, when many of the servants had yet to return, one returned from sending a letter to count Rowe to inform me that he had met a merchant man on his return. The man had a daughter two years younger than Dimitri – excusable – who matched the description provided perfectly.

I did not let the joy show on my face, but all I could think of after days of silence was ‘finally, _finally_!’

I had no doubt that others would come forward too, but, since this merchant had accumulated a fair amount of prestige and wealth, we would do well to tie ourselves to their family.

I told my son this morning that there was to be an important meeting over dinner with a young woman. I felt I did not need to explain more than that, despite him not knowing the effort I had taken to set up this arrangement.

She arrived promptly, with her parents, in the afternoon. I’d thought it fair to allow my son time to talk to her in private before something as formal as an interfamily meal. I’d asked Patricia talk to the guests, and inform them that I was held back by official business.

Meanwhile I sat in the guest room adjacent to Dimitri’s bedroom – the one often used for the rat – to listen out for any interesting conversation.

As planned, Dimitri retreated to his room alongside the guest, and I brought a glass up to the wall and listened intently, transcribing the entire piece.

In order to preserve the conversation in a manner far more fitting of its importance than chicken scratch, I have rewritten it in this journal.

Dimitri: It is lovely to meet you Elaine!

Elaine: It is an honour to meet you too your highness!

Dimitri: Ah! There is no need for that; please, call me Dimitri.

Elaine: As you wish your- Oh! [gentle giggles] that is harder than expected! Is it not rude to ignore your title?

Dimitri: Not at all! Please, if we are to become friends it would be unjust to have you be so formal.

Elaine: Oh, of course!

[A long pause.]

Elaine: Should we-? is it-? is there-?

Dimitri: Perhaps we should find some sort of ice breaker, I must imagine that this is not the sort of situation you imagined you would one day find yourself in! [laughter]

Elaine: Oh no not at all! I am so glad that you are so friendly. I was so worried that I wouldn’t know how to talk to you.

Dimitri: We are all human after all!

Elaine: Quite!

…

In fact, I shall write no more. I feel this reveals enough. There was no passion in the conversation. It was drier than the sand dunes near Duscur.

I knew that Dimitri was capable of making a better first impression than this; I chalked it up to nerves and yet, I _knew_ that when he was truly interested in someone new he could talk for hours.

It’s how he had talked to Felix.

That rat.

The first time he arrived with Glenn was back when Dimitri was only a few months old. Rodrigue has wanted to introduce his new baby to the new prince, and so we left them in the cot together. (I remember when I had told Rodrigue that my first wife was pregnant and he was so excited that he and his wife worked hard to conceive a child within the same year. Our wives often gossiped about what mischief the two young boys would cause together, how much they couldn’t wait to meet them. None of us could imagine that neither woman would survive their birth.)

The next time that Felix came to Fhirdiad to meet Dimitri, he was three. When he came into the palace Dimitri was desperate to impress him, to show him around, to share as much ‘gossip’ as a child could grasp with him. And the rat hung off of every word, which pushed my son to continue whatever he had been babbling about, often losing control of his voice and yelling in excitement. He’d never been much of a vocal child, but when the rat was around he couldn’t communicate enough.

That stupid rat was always very close to him too. Always demanding some form of physical contact, hugs, held hands. I once slapped my son’s hand off of his thigh during Dinner when they were too young to understand the inappropriate nature of the touch.

It occurs to me know, as I write this, that I remember gossip about the two sharing little kisses! I’d written it off as nonsense, seeing as nobody besides maids ever brought it up, but now I think I can believe it.

My life has been turned upside down entirely. All the props that make up the world in my head have been thrown over, policed and investigated; the truth beneath each piece brought to light. It seems very possible now that Dimitri had decided that communication was only _one_ was to shower the rat with his affection, and decided to mix his moving lips and the physical contact the blue rat adored to drown him in his own obsession.

I can only imagine what sort of indecent things my son could have done in all the time that he has known Felix, and in all the time that I have not known him _enough_. But I cannot dwell on them at present.

More pressingly, Dimitri hasn’t made an effort to even befriend this Elaine.

After half an hour of tiring, dry conversation I left the room and made to talk to Elaine’s parents.

They had a fairly average story for a bunch of merchants: came from a merchant family that had been quite stable and reputable for the past few decades, suddenly caught sight of a good deal and made ridiculous profit. Now, they explained, they had the money to make really good quality furniture and upholstery, since their oldest son is a great woodworker. His mother’s weaving has been a consistent source of income, though threads can be expensive.

I commissioned a scarf to show interest in their craft. The shallow promise of more business aside, the ornament they presented me with (a lion with the crest of Blaiddyd carved onto its stomach) was well crafted. They could prove to be useful allies, even if no marriage is agreed upon.

And indeed, I doubt it will be.

Dimitri was terribly quiet at dinner, and did not even bid the guests goodbye.

I would be awfully angry at him, but instead I have decided to hand him the journal and tell him to write whenever he can. Starting today. I expect to see his view on the situation, so that Gustave and I can better treat his illness.

30th Guardian Moon – Dimitri

-

_Finally_ , the professor thought, _Dimitri’s **own** opinion on his **own** affections. About time for some real gossip._

_-_

My father told me this morning that there would be a meeting with a woman around dinner, but that I should be dressed for lunch. She arrived soon afterwards, and my step-mother encouraged us to go speak together in my room after introductions.

As we were walking up the stairs she glanced around at the palace and made small conversation with me about the artwork on display. Once we’d ascended the curved staircase and had passed through a door she relaxed a little, and then turned to look behind herself, tense again.

“If I may be so forward-”

“Oh go ahead.” I said.

She twitched, looked around quickly and ducked closer to me, dropping her voice low and conspiratorial, “Well-” she searched for eyes once more, “I _don’t_ think your father is on official business.”

I thought about it. “Me neither.”

“My father gets very anxious whenever I have new friends over, he’s worried they’re thieves I think, and he listens in from next door.”

“I doubt my father thinks of you as a thief.”

“I don’t think so, but I do think he’s probably trying to see if I’m worthy of being queen.”

“Oh, I see!” I brightened up. “I’m sorry. ….That does make it awkward.”

“A little, yeah.” She laughed.

When we got into the room we introduced ourselves properly and tried to find something productive to do until dinner, since we didn’t know each other well enough yet to spontaneously talk. We sat next to each other at my desk and played a few games of chess, neither of us awfully good players, and then shared our favourite books. After a while, I heard the room next door open.

“That’ll be your father!” She whispered, tapping me on the shoulder excitedly, “Now we can talk about all kinds of stuff!”

I lit up a little, but immediately realised that for the last hour or so, I hadn’t _exactly_ remembered that he was there, yet I still couldn’t find much to say.

“Well,” I started, “what would you like to talk about?”

She thought about this.

“I dunno, something interesting like, castle gossip or something,” she stretched her legs, “or, _I don’t know-”_

She stopped stretching slowly and rest her legs against her chair again, leaning forwards with her finger raised, beaming mischievously. She had found something to talk about.

“You could tell me why I’m your type!”

I blanked.

Before I could even open my mouth she straightened up and blushed profusely, “Oh no-,,,,, I didn’t mean-!! Oh dear!!! I didn’t mean to say that- you-,,,,, like me!!” She nervously brushed navy strands out of her eyes, “I just meant,,,, you know,,,,,,!! Why navy hair/brown eyes???”

“Oh yeah!!” I laughed awkwardly, “I knew you weren’t being assuming!!” I realised that with that, I may have suggested I wasn’t, in fact, interested in her at all. “But you are pretty so you can assume!!,,, if you want to!!!”

In the time it’d taken for me to stumble over my words, she’d recovered from the weight of her own, enough to ask “Soooooooooo….?”

I tried to think of an answer, and, just as quickly, tried to think of what I would answer if not for the truth. Why _do_ men generally have preferences??

“Uh-hh, I-,,, I think that brown eyes just contrast well with dark hair, they stand out a little!” It occurred to me then that the brown of her eyes, which I hadn’t paid attention to, were not only darker than Felix’s eyes, but less striking amongst the blue. “I mean,,, when the light hits them! The- the eyes!! Not the hai-”

“You haven’t really acted like you’re interested in marriage.” She said, in a monotonous voice that seemed equal parts accusatory and investigative, despite her shyness. “I mean, parents decide marriages all the time but, why try to arrange one with literally any noble in Fodlan? It’s… desperate. But you’re still so young… There’s no reason to go that crazy.”

I started to sweat, and could only pray that it didn’t smell.

“The description was so specific that I came here sure that you would be some sort of ladies’ man with a well-established type, looking for someone of it to marry.” She looked over my head here, “I was worried that you’d be overbearing or entitled,” she looked into my eyes, “but you’re… not…

“…How?”

I said nothing.

“Why?”

“HmmmmmMMmn~-” I hummed, stretching my arm above my head to scratch at the back on my neck, which was now itchy from sweating profusely, without elbowing her. “I-” I faltered, and she picked up on it immediately.

“It was almost like they were trying to get a look-alike,” I started to die inside as she said it, “and, well – please understand if this comes off as overstepping a boundary – but, it seems-…. I saw-…..”

She took a deep breath and pointed shyly at a piece of paper pinned to my wall. It was a watercolour painting that one of the castle knights have made for me as a child. Cleo had called them to the scene apparently.

It was a painting of Felix making a lily flower crown. In the picture we were both sitting on the grass; Felix was twisting stalking in his little hand, my chubby one on his knee. I was straightening up to get a good view of the crown as he worked. Felix was looking into my eyes, which he never did unless you weren’t looking at him, and was clearly trying to see my reaction. He must have been pleased with my joy because he had a big open-mouthed smile on his rosy face.

“I saw it and I thought that maybe,,, I looked a bit like her… And I wondered maybe if,,, something happened to her….” Elaine said softly, in the background. “I wondered if I’m meant to be a replacement for the young girl you lost…”

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. I couldn’t correct her without making it worse. And there wasn’t a way to refute the claim other than the truth. _I’ll have to take the picture down in the future if I want to fool anyone_ , I thought at first. Then I thought, _maybe not. Maybe this is a good way of eliminating all these candidates._

In the end she signed. “I’m right aren’t I?”

“….

“…Yes.”

She shut her eyes slowly and hung her head, and for a moment I thought she was about to cry; but she did not cry, and instead, lifted her head back up and made eye contact with me.

“I’m sorry,” She said gently, as if she felt sorrier for _me_ than herself, “but I don’t really want to try to be somebody else’s replacement.” She glanced back at the picture meaningfully and added in a rough voice, “I don’t think she would want me to either. I think she’s waiting for you.”

As she brought her attention back to me, I wanted to tell her the truth, or refute the claim entirely, with the same conviction that she had shown before. Yet I couldn’t meet her eyes, wet with unshed tears.

“I need an heir.” I said to the floor instead.

She nodded. Then her face scrunched up. Tears finally leaking, and her voice finally wavering, she whimpered, “I just feel so _sorry_ for her!”

As her breath hitched on a sob I said without thinking, “Oh please don’t! He’s not dead!”

She paused, face utterly still besides the tears streaming down her still face.

“He?” Her throat was a little rough from the crying and it sounded almost like a whisper. It lacked judgment, however, so I told her.

“It’s why my father won’t let me marry him. I haven’t even told him,,, he,,, he doesn’t _know_.”

She cringed again but this time she didn’t cry, she just heaved a breath and placed an arm on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered encouragingly, “good luck.”

I nodded, feeling my own facial muscles tense up. It’s been a long time since I could talk to Carol regularly.

I think that’s what did it, in the end. Elaine’s eyes may not have reminded me of Felix, but they were familiar nonetheless. Something about the way she seemed to know everything yelled, _my counsellor! my counsellor!_ at me.

And I’d wanted to talk for so long. So, in the end, I told her everything. By the end of it all I didn’t know which of the people I’d mentioned she pitied the most, nor who she disliked the most. But at least it was off my chest.

She gave me another lingering pat on the shoulder after some moments of silence.

“It’s a shame, you know. You would have been a real catch.”

I smiled at her.

She then suggested that we clean up and attempt to look presentable for dinner. We even practiced speaking so that sore-throats would go unnoticed, but after all was said and done, we didn’t speak much anyway.

She left with little fanfare. And though she didn’t bag a prince, she _did_ get the castle gossip she had been looking for. So hopefully her trip wasn’t entirely worthless.

The first thing I dreaded, upon her departure, was the moment she’d have to tell her father that she’d ‘failed’ to join the royal family. I didn’t want to imagine the disappointment it would cause, when she had been the best guest I could have asked for.

The second thing I dreaded was that perhaps I should have lied, or convinced her to marry me for appearances’ sake; for she was perhaps the most patient woman I could have asked for, and I’d now lost her.

The third thing I dreaded was my father’s reaction. I still dread it actually. There is no chance he will not read this, so I can only ask to try to keep her location as I meet new suitors. Should no one else prove marriageable, I shall throw myself at Elaine’s feet and beg her to be queen.

2nd Pegasus Moon

After reading Dimitri’s account of the visit with Elaine, my first feelings were not actually anger. Though, ultimately, he did not find a spouse, and he let castle secrets slip, it appears he does understand the gravity of marrying Felix. I have hope that even if Dimitri doesn’t ever manage to shake his feelings, he can at least learn to act in a manner befitting of a king.

-

The professor sighed. Lambert appeared the winning in this drama.

Well… _Drama._ It was real life but,,,, it was hard to see it that way.

They rested their head on their right hand and flicked through the pages to find Felix’s birthday account, where Dimitri would be likely to…. _Slip-up_ and have his way for once.

Bingo.

-

21st Pegasus Moon

Yesterday, I allowed my son to attend Felix’s birthday celebration. I was worried, as I was whenever the rat was allowed within a mile radius around my son. Nonetheless, Dimitri had been admitting to feelings during counselling, trying to overcome them, and succeeding in repressing his pesky affections. So there was no reason to deny him.

That said, he was notably happier in the rat’s presence. Dangerously so. I kept having to remind myself that Dimitri already swore that even if he could not remove his feelings, he’d still marry for the country. For Faerghus. It’s hard to remember the reason I force him to abstain from his love, due to my own growing hatred for the blue rat. It’s for our kingdom, for if Dimitri were to marry a man – someone incapable of carrying an heir – then the kingdom would become another alliance. Perhaps it would be invaded. It would be weak regardless.

Since I’ve gained some trust in Dimitri, I left him to talk, though I did not leave him unsupervised. From what I saw, he did not do anything unbecoming of a prince.

21st Pegasus Moon – Dimitri

I was allowed to go to Felix’s birthday today.

It wasn’t a large event, which is quite usual for Felix. He isn’t one for extravagance and, unlike Glenn, he doesn’t have to keep up appearances since he will not be future duke. I must admit that I am a little jealous of him.

He hasn’t hit puberty yet, unlike Sylvain and I, so he seemed rather small. He got angry when Sylvain pointed it out, and I had to calm him down.

“Now now Felix,” I said, “There’s nothing wrong with your height!”

He scoffed angrily, spinning from where he stood glaring at Sylvain towards the window next to me. “So you agree that I’m small?”

He sounded it.

“It’s not debatable Felix!” Sylvain laughed, clasping his hands together behind his neck, as if he were lounging on the grass – when, in reality, we were stood in the dining hall whilst food was being prepared. “Hey Ingrid get me a tape measure!”

“No.” She replied curtly, fidgeting with the hem of her dress sleeve as she waited for Glenn.

“You’re only upset because you’re too tall,” Felix hissed at her, “you’re gonna be massive and make Glenn look short and then everyone’s gonna laugh at you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and Sylvain mirrored her, “Yeah, no.”

He huffed again, like an angry cat.

I don’t think he would have liked the comparison.

He hummed like one too, a little whine vibrating from his throat. His spikey fringe looked like drooping kitten ears in that moment, and his teal velvet jacket looked like fur. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me as I’d learned to do as a child. As usual, he leaned into the touch and let out another little huff of air.

“Aw~” Sylvain cooed, ruining the moment. Which was quite useful as it reminded me of my duty: to steer _clear_ of Felix.

Felix didn’t break away from the embrace however; unashamed, he snaked his little arms around my back and slotted his head under my chin.

“You’re jealous because you’re tall too,” he jeered at Sylvain, staring at him with one eye, the other closed and against my collar bone. “You can’t give Dima the cuddles he deserves, only _I_ can!~”

I blushed furiously and tried to burrow my face in his hair to cover it. I found it difficult to rein my emotions in now, since I’d spent so long repressing them. I could hear Felix’s words resonating in my skull. _Only he can, only he can,_ I kept thinking, _only he calls me Dima and gives me what I deserve._

He was warm against me, and every time I noticed it my entirely body was hit with a boiling wave of heat which left my blood simmering in its wake. I wrapped my other arm around Felix, grabbing at the back of his jacket, wrinkling it. I pulled him close to me, until I could feel our bones touch, until I could smell more than just his shampoo, until I could smell the comforting smell of Felix’s sweat. I inhaled deep breaths of it. It was so satisfying, and Felix, good little Felix, snuggled closer, pressing his head further forward, further exposing the back of his neck. _It’s for me, all for me, all mine,_ I thought possessively, breathing out heavy huffs of air alongside an involuntary moan.

“Look at that, you sticky pest!” Glenn’s sharp voice – _how long had he been there?_ – sounded from the nearby staircase and cut through our…. moment.

“You must’ve trod on his toe or something! You hurt him!” He said as he finished descending the stairs and made his way over to the group. He pried Felix off of me with some effort. Not so much because we wouldn’t release each other, but more because Felix felt heavy and tied to me, and had to be peeled off like a banana skin. “I know you haven’t seen him in a year, but calm down!”

He turned to me and apologised, to which I assured that I was perfectly ok.

When I glanced back at where the group had previously been standing, I noted that Felix had returned to stand next to Sylvain grumpily, as the redhead ruffled his hair. Ingrid sighed and moved to greet Glenn, leaning on the banister to show off her dress’ expensive gold-trimmed sleeves. Not that Glenn was interested enough in fashion to notice it, let alone make conversation about it. The smile he shot her was enough of a compliment for her anyway, it seemed, as she grinned sheepishly and avoided eye contact as she paused to absorb the … implicit appreciation of her costume? She picked herself up from where she’d been posing and looped an arm through Glenn’s, leading him away somewhere to talk privately.

Felix snorted.

“What? You still grumpy because you’re tiny?”

“I’m not tiny!” He snapped, “and _no_.”

“What’s wrong Felix?” I said, almost beckoning him into another hug, before remembering my duty.

He glared at both Ingrid and Glenn, his red-ish eyes flickering between the two. “Not to sound… _spoiled_ or anything but,” he shot Sylvain a dirty look for his eye roll, “Glenn and Ingrid…. They only… care about each _other_ don’t they? Glenn spends all his time at Fhirdiad and at Galatea and yet he _still_ ignores me in favour of Ingrid on my birthday. Ingrid’s even worse, but she’s boring so I don’t really care.” He added petulantly.

“I think you _do_ care.” Sylvain said, and jumped into some sort of lecture about understanding other people’s affections and boundaries, which, in a very Sylvain-like fashion, derailed into why Felix should consider a girlfriend of his own. I had to stop Felix from killing our older friend, and the only thing to stop him from turning on me and attacking us both was the food.

He didn’t talk about it anymore after dinner, but I saw him take note of every event or request that Glenn and Ingrid declined to be near each other. Every opportunity missed making Felix’s blood boil. I never noticed him suffering so without his brother, which was cruel of me, given the fact that Glenn was usually away from home serving for the kingdom, and was usually there for _me_.

“I won’t ever leave you for some woman.” I said at some point during the night, and then cringed as I did. Regret settling in immediately; _I can’t actually mean that._

Felix was fooled however, and looked at me with his beautiful eyes, large and dark with dilated pupils. “Really…?” He breathed.

“I’ll have to marry one day!” I quickly amended, and loudly too, “but we’ll always be best friends!”

I think my father heard me say that, because when we were returning to Fhirdiad, he told me he was very proud. I think that made the trouble worth it in the end.

Felix seemed to darken at the idea of a woman, I remember.

“I’m sorry.” I said reflexively.

He melted a little, “I know.” He said, unconvinced. “I know.”

I allowed him the little comfort of holding my hand for the rest of the evening.

23rd Pegasus Moon

Dimitri’s progress is not linear, but that is to be expected I am sure. I believe that-

-

The rest of the journal was as waffley as the rest of Lambert’s writing, so the professors decided to quickly skim the last few pages of the journal. Lamberts final account (presumably, before the tragedy), and Dimitri’s subsequent one.

Lambert’s was surprisingly short.

Dimitri’s was forebodingly long.

-

13th Great Tree Moon

Dimitri has continued with his rebellious behaviour and after a month I am yet to find the one deliberately undoing the delicate progress we had made.

I wrote a letter to Rodrigue stating firmly that Felix’s execution was to be hastened. He will be tried and punished as soon as we return to Fhirdiad.

My son went into all manners of hysterics. Even Glenn knew that sacrificing his brother was necessary. Dimitri will need tougher skin if he is to become a king.

13th G R e aT Tre E mo O N – D I m i Tr I

-

The writing on Dimitri’s part was vicious, with obvious effort to stab the paper, judging by the ink blotches, the scratches, and the painfully detached and inconsistent calligraphy. It was as if – no, it was certainly the case that – he was purposefully reigning in his anger so as to not destroy the only object that could he could torture with his memories, trying to take control of his crest and his strength. But everything was slipping.

It would be a torturous read.

-

It all came to its peak today.

I don’t even know where to start.

I’d done everything I could to spite my father after touring Faeghus with him. I’d seen so much in the cities and villages surrounding the castle; I saw so much happiness, love, and compassion, as well as so much pain and poverty.

I became sure, over time, that the crest system was flawed! Worthless! Has it not only caused my friends, and myself, great pain?!! Did the people on the streets not live crestless and happy?? Were they not economically crippled to pay for the price of living _normally_??

For what,,, for who,,, would I conceive an heir??!!! Who, outside of the houses of nobles, would care to see the king join the normality they thrive in???

Would it not be better to marry on my own terms, for my own feelings??? Would it not be better to lead our country into a brighter future by shaping our world from the inside out???

I fought for months with myself; and for what felt like forever with my father! I fought for _Felix_!! No,,, for just the right to see him!!! To be allowed, _permitted,_ to lay a claim on him!!!

Father tried to have me counselled again today, but I did not allow it this time either. Counselling with Gilbert is like having a conversation with a wall who takes great pleasure in reciting the divine right of kings and the natural order that we must uphold. In my honest opinion, it is a waste of time.

My father turned from me after giving the order, and began the walk to his room, his cape billowing out behind him as he walked up the stairs. I ascended immediately after him, demanding more of his time, more of his understanding!

I told him decidedly that counselling would no longer work because, unlike my younger self, I did not wish to blindly follow him, to make him proud. I am no longer immature, and no longer do I seek guidance from someone who would have me hide my true self!

 _‘Hide yourself for the sake of your country Dimitri.’_ He would say, as if leading the country from behind a façade has done anything but encourage others to do the same!

‘ _To not provide an heir would cause public outrage!’_ He’d add, even though that was the world he cultivated, not the one that I will create.

To be my true self on the throne will cause uproar, but with the uproar will rise the spirit of revolution. Perhaps one day the crown will cease to be. Perhaps we will be another alliance. Or perhaps the crown will fall on the most worthy, as oppose to the best crested.

I do not even remember how I argued my stance to my father this time. Perhaps I did not bother, after never getting through to him.

I must have taunted, voice going feral: “I will marry Felix! And you cannot stop me!”

Or leered: “The crown will no longer belong to a Blaiddyd heir,, and this cursed tradition will finally end by my rule!”

I only remember that instead of dismissing me entirely or calling Gustave, as he would usually do, he stopped walking abruptly, almost causing me to fall down the stairs in my effort to not stride into him.

He planted his feet firmly and growled before he rounded on me coldly and yelled:

“WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO SET YOU STRAIGHT?!!!!!”

I did not answer. He straightened up and made eye contact in an attempt to intimidate, but all I need do to dodge the temptation to fall in line is to imagine my most beloved future. A future where I can wake up in the morning on a low framed, wooden bed, tucked into a hand stitched and quilted cover. A future where I can look to my left, and watch my beloved husband snore almost inaudibly next to me, stirring only slightly as I lean forwards to flick dark strands of hair off the bridge of his nose. My desperation for that future is outmatched.

Though now…. It seems… less and less likely…

But back to the story at hand: my father seemed to notice the lack of reaction and his tone switched from seething anger to distress. To my shock, he began to beg. He took a step forwards forcing me to take one back so as not to topple down the stairs. “WHAT?????” He grasped my shoulders, shaking me, “CAN I DO?????” He raised his voice even louder. “CAN I DO ANYTHING TO FIX THIS??? OH GODDESS PLEASE???” He gasped at the ceiling, “WHAT DO I-”

And then he paused, still halfway up those stairs, his hand unclenching from my shoulder and moving to instead crush the banister, his head falling back down, but eyes still upward, pensive.

“I shall send a letter to Rodrigue.” He said.

“About what?!! What will you tell him??? Weren’t you afraid of me?? Of who I am?? Of who I love??? Will you finally admit it??!!”

“He KNOWS!!!!” He bellowed down at me. I regret that I flinched in that moment.

He dropped his voice dangerously.

“He knows.” He said, leaning in as I leaned back. “I told him so, because I decided that if you didn’t get any better… then we’d have to dispose” he tilted his head closer, his breath close to the fringe I cut myself, in an effort to distance myself from him, “of a little blue rat.”

“Dispose?” I whimpered, clueless.

“Trying to end the royal family is treason.”

I understood the threat in those words as soon as they were uttered.

“FELIX HAS DONE NOTHING!” I screamed hoarsely, leaning forwards into his space, reinvigorated by the looming threat. He’d sent a letter to Rodrigue, Rodrigue was willing to execute his son on my father’s next command, my father’s next command was on its way to being written-

He said something to try to console or calm me, but an animalistic howl was ripped from my throat.

“YOU’LL DO NOTHING!!!” I choked out with a tearing voice. I sounded like a child who knew nothing but black and white in the world, and screamed out in agony during a tantrum, not understanding the inconsequential nature of their predicament. I, on the other hand, knew many different shades, of grey and all colours, and I still found myself trapped in a dark abyss, screaming like this was the greatest I would ever grieve.

Unlike a toddler, I was right.

I carried on howling.

“YOU’LL SAY _NO_ THING!!!”

“YOU WILL BEHAVE!!”

There was a pause as I dragged in a laboured breath.

“NO.”

But my father ignored me entirely, his cape sweeping the carpet as he walked briskly to his study.

As he reached the door and yanked it open he called for Glenn loudly.

“Yes your majesty?” He asked softly, never afraid of the king even at his worst. Most likely because he didn’t know the reason for his anger, or at least, so I’d believed.

I thought it impossible for Glenn to agree with my father on this matter; his brother’s life was at stake for goddess sake!!!!

I charged in behind my father, who left the door open for me; in hindsight, this should have alerted me of a trap, but I was far too angry then to think much of it.

I made my way to his desk and tried to tear every parchment I could see, scrambling around like an angry cat. I heard Glenn prepare to speak up about the display but my father crossed the room before he could utter anything and wrenched my arm above my head, pulling me away from the desk with paper still in my hand, before tossing me. I hit the wall hard, gasping for breath. I was like a beetle that had fallen onto its back, and before I could flip myself over, my father’s boot was on my stomach.

“Glenn?” He asked again.

“Yes your majesty?” He repeated, completing the ritual.

“If I told you that Felix was responsible for Dimitri’s animalistic behaviour,” he intoned, grinding the boot into me, forcing a growl out of my lungs, “would you punish him?”

“My brother?” Glenn asked, innocent surprise stretched across his features. Glenn wasn’t usually shocked by things, not so openly. He might as well be pulling on his hair and gasping dramatically.

The surprise was warranted though; Felix wasn’t as mischievous as Glenn. He may have often resorted to underhanded sparring tactics, but it was out of his unbiased analysis of techniques, and his nature to disregard society’s views, as opposed to being deliberately opportunistic. He was not one for pranks. Especially not one to put a curse on the prince to make him disruptive.

“Ye-es.” My father said in a deceptive sing-song voice. His eyes were hard, evil, and they were all that I could focus on above the boot on my chest.

“What has he done??” Glenn asked, always one to cut straight to the chase. His eyes darted between mine and my father’s, before my father took his foot off of me, and grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He pulled me off the ground, and turned to face Glenn.

“Tell Glenn all about those _feelings_ that Felix forced upon you.” He snarled.

“They’re NOT FORCED!” I gasped. “I’VE ALWAYS LOVED FELIX, FOR SO MANY YEARS!! HE HAS DONE NOTHING WORNG! HE IS PERFECT!” I began to whimper pathetically, close to tears, “LET ME GO!!” I made eye contact with Glenn, who held it, unlike his brother was wont to do, “HE’S GOING TO KILL FELIX!! GLENN!! HE’S KILLING FELIX FOR NOTHING!!!”

“Your brother has committed treason by poisoning my son, the prince, with some sort of dark magic which we are unable to remove.” His grip tightened on my shirt, “it compelled him: first, to fall deeply in love with him; and now, to disobey my every command for that love. He pulls strings-”

“NO!!”

“-abuses the love he forced onto him-”

“LIAR!!”

“-to make him hate kingdom and country-”

“I HATE NOTHING BUT YOU!!”

“-do you hear him?!!” He asked incredulously, tilting his head. “He now desperately _wants_ no heirs, wants no _king_!”

“THE SYSTEM IS FLAWE-”

“THE SYSTEM KEPPS EVERYONE SECURE AND YOU KNOW IT!!” He spat at me, before adding a resigned, “or at least you did, before… Felix…”

His arm drooped down until I was crumpled on the floor.

“He’s lying.” I said weakly. “He’s lying Glenn. He’s going to kill Felix because of me.” I looked up at him, pleading, “you know Felix would never do this to me, don’t you?” _You won’t let him die._

‘I don’t think I can accept this your majesty, let me do some investigating.’ Glenn said in my mind.

“Will executing Felix undo the magic?”

“Yes.” My father affirmed with the certainty of a man who knew perfectly well that there was no crime to absolve Felix of through death in the first place.

“I understand.” Glenn said to my father. Bowing deeply to cover the wrinkle of his brows, and quiver of his lip, both of which only I could see, from my vantage point.

I peered further to the side, beyond where Glenn hadn’t straightened, where he mourned his younger brother prematurely. I looked at my father, the cat that got the mouse, unabashedly pleased with himself. Grinning from ear to ear as he looked at one of his best knights in poorly mitigated misery.

“You see-” My gloating father began.

I ignored him to implore with the less heartless man in the room.

“You would betray your own brother??!!!” I croaked.

Glenn straightened up and looked to the side, wincing. “It doesn’t make me happy either, your highness, but sacrifice is necessary.” He thought about it. “It’s like how Sylvain can’t be proud of Miklan, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t you DARE compare FELIX to MIKLAN!!”

I almost felt bad for snapping after the fact, but I was furious. Was this how Glenn was planning to remember Felix?? As some irredeemable criminal who turns on those closest to him and breaks them??

I tried to speak again. I was slapped for my effort. The force of it sent me reeling, my eyes staring blankly at the wall I banged into.

From somewhere behind my throbbing turned head, my father declared the decision to send the letter final. Glenn cleared his throat and swallowed wetly, but he must have nodded because my father commended him for his courage to do the right thing.

All my fight drained from me.

I didn’t adjust myself. I just continued to sit there, unmoving, facing the wall, my neck at an angle. As if I’d been trapped in time by that slap.

In that almost silent moment, where the only sounds were muffed sniffs and swallows, and the gentle scratching of quill on paper, I vowed to kill myself if they touched Felix. I am unsure if this was spoken aloud.

Either way, I was escorted to my quarters - I barely remember the walk where everything turned grey – and was told to write my recollection of the events. And so, I write them. But I write them not so that they can be used in counselling, later. Rather, I write the previously unwritten history of the abuse of crests. And one day, I shall let the world know what they have done to my love.

-

The professor sighed. _So that was the end of that then._

Except, that didn’t make sense.

What about after the tragedy?

They looked up at Felix, who was half listening to Annette. _He seems very alive for someone whose father was committed to following his king’s every order._

As if reading their mind, Gilbert leant over and said softly, “His grace continued writing after his majesty died, or at least, that was what was decided before I left.”

And, just as he’d said, when the professor turned the page they were met with Rodrigue’s writing. _Oh goodie._ They thought. _More reading._

-

30th Great Tree Moon - Rodrigue

A lot has happened since the tragedy of just last week or so. But there has been little time to mourn. Rufus has taken charge. It has left me a lot of work to do.

His highness had never seemed strictly traditional; he bordering on rebellious if his father’s worries were anything to go by, but now he seems much more prudent. A better, and more traditional, leader. One who knows the benefits of waiting for the right time to take the throne.

As such, the regent is in charge, no matter how incapable he is, because tradition wills it.

Felix has sent me numerous letters each with an order to hand them to Dimitri. Some of the staff warned me against it, claiming that my son uses some dark magic against the prince, but Lambert did explain that Felix is only an unfortunate scapegoat for Dimitri’s own affections. As such, I brushed off the concerns and tried to give them to him as instructed.

His highness will not even look at them. He refuses all letters from Felix stonily. I do not understand it myself, but it worries me all the same.

Since Gustave ran away from the castle - after a particularly scorching argument with the guards, at the end of which he departed whilst leaving me orders to counsel and report on his highness - I have no one to ask for any advice.

I have told Dimitri to keep some sort of journal to record his feelings, and he has interpreted this to mean that he will share this one with me. I am not sure why, but I have assumed it is to do with sentimentality. I, on the other hand, can’t imagine trying to write in my father’s journal, not after his death. But everyone copes differently I suppose.

30th Great Tree Moon – Dimitri

**[TW: This section looks at the aftermath of the tragedy of Duscur a bit. It is quite a serious passage in comparison to a lot of the rest of the fic. Dedue finds the body of his sister who, judging by big red flags on her body, has been sexually assaulted. There is also a dead child. Only the aftermath has been written, not the assault itself, but do skip to the next bit if you think this may trigger you.]**

I shan’t talk about what happened on our way to Duscur. But I _will_ write that the immediate reaction from certain nobles houses to charge into Duscur after us, using the excuse that they were worried about us since we had not returned for a week, to burn everything down, and kill everyone in sight, was disgusting. Even in the event that people from Duscur _had_ been the attackers, they should not have been wiped out for the actions of a few.

Still, the tragedy has at least brought me a friend. Though I feel guilty even considering him as such, seeing as he is only in Fhirdiad since his home was destroyed.

When I found him, he was kneeled before the body of a half-naked woman. Her clothes were torn, her white hair filled with chunks of mud and dried blood. I couldn’t see a head injury, but she _was_ face-up, lying down on her back in front of a damaged building. It’s possible that the blood stemmed from a gash at the back of the head; perhaps they’d thrown her to the ground and the fall had damaged her skull, or perhaps it was damaged on purpose first before they pushed her down. She clearly hadn’t died on impact either way. She had bruises – so blue they were almost black – wrapped around her neck. There was blood and flesh in her sharp nails, and her knuckles were an angry purple. The worst part of this, however, was the promise of agony brought by her torn clothes. Her privates must have previously been exposed, for they were now only covered with a dirty cloth to preserve her dignity.

She’d fought, and lost. And then paid an unfair price for that loss.

I didn’t really get a good look at her body until a few minutes after I’d first noticed the man hovering over her, mostly because another soldier was already closing in on him.

He didn’t move. His head hung low, barely registering the sound of the man roaring.

I did.

I slapped the soldier’s head so hard he went flying into a wall opposite the building the woman lay before. Unlike her, he died painlessly.

I approached the man and put a trembling hand on his shoulder. I was still, I _am_ still, recovering from the shock of my family and Glenn, whose-

No. I cannot describe them. Their faces-

The fire-

Unlike the poor woman whose face I couldn’t meet for fear of losing the last of my nerves, I had known them. To see them so- to see her so-

When the man looked up at me he seemed to realise that I was the one who had disposed of the threat, though it was unclear whether his murky grey-green eyes were radiating anger or gratitude. I don’t like to think of his dead eyes, the way such a large man cried so profoundly as he whimpered to me “My sister,,,” gesturing at what was left of her. He trusted me on sight with such a small but significant detail, as if he had no one else to tell.

He didn’t, so I really had no right to be moved.

I kneeled beside him and closed her unseeing eyes.

The finality of it all forced a heavy breath through his mouth. “She was saving herself…” a sob escaped his throat at whatever memory his mind had supplied for this detail, “for marriage….” He sniffed, as if it made the crime worse, it probably did, for him. Since he knew her.

It didn’t really. She wouldn’t have deserved it whether she were a saint or a whore.

It’s just as my counsellor had constantly reminded me years ago: everyone has worth, and all of it is equal; even the whores and the homosexuals that the kingdom hates to claim as their own.

“Homosexuals aren’t whores.” I defended, snobbishly.

She'd eyed me calmly, waiting for my own petulance to sink in.

“Everyone has worth, and it’s _all_ equal. There is no shame being on the same level as anyone else. If you’re ever too afraid to be lumped together with a group you claim to defend, you don’t truly see them as equal.”

That teaching had served me well when touring with my father.

No.

My father had _warned_ me of – no,,, I am… distracted. I must report on the _tragedy_ of Duscur.

The word gets tossed around as if it’s simply a name, but you must only imagine the agony of a woman whose name I never received, a person with her own aspirations, to understand that there is simply no better word for tragedy. This was not a villain-less shame, nor ambiguous war. It was grown men stealing the lives of thousands of sisters. It was grown women watching people’s sisters being violently tortured, and checking the colour of the other women’s skin before dismissing their male peers behaviour. It was Faerghus marching into a family home and setting it alight, burning down everyone whom they didn’t kill with their own hands, leaving them to die slowly as if the same crime that was committed against the king were less heinous when done in revenge.

I remember not really knowing how to comfort him beyond simple, obvious things. “Your people don’t deserve this.” and “I’m sorry.”

I brought him to the chariot which I’d run from, the one intended to bring me back to Fhirdiad, and rushed him inside. I told the charioteer that I’d been saved from a rogue soldier by this man, and that I would have him return to Fhirdiad with me. It didn’t seal the deal immediately, but a few choice bribes did.

I then spent the rest of my energy trying to recall the troops. It was humiliating in every sense. Not only did I run and shout with the knowledge that my endangered life has caused the smoke I breathed, but the lack of cooperation from soldiers and generals alike humbled me. A prince was a foreign term to these people suddenly.

By sundown the soldiers retreated, whether or not due to my interference I am not sure. It didn’t matter anyway. As I stepped into the chariot and held the man I’d found as if to shield him from the leers of random fighters, I found that I’d already given up on saving Duscur. Turning my head to look back at city I’d torn him away from, I figured that any survivors were long gone from the scene.

There is so much else to explore, so many more horrors to uncover. But sometimes it is too hard to explain the smell of burning flesh, and it is easier and hence more moving to imagine the combined smell of all the incense sticks in their places of worship catching aflame at once. Large quantities of heavily scented smoke pouring out of the building as clouds, as if the buildings themselves were bleeding. As if their temples were sending out their own quick prayers, which were so burnt and broken that they remained unanswered. Watching them go was like watching the last of their culture sizzle away into its own afterlife, where not even history books will touch it.

I don’t know what hurt more, the loss of an entire people, of entire faiths, of an entire culture, of a whole history; or the sight of a single child sat outside her house with a doll in either hand, beaming up at the sun. She had pink eyes and lime green hair, tied into bunches. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, her eyes shining, as if she’d just laughed so much that her jaw hurt, and she’d been forced to keep a straight face to not strain a muscle. What had really forced her straight face was the axe embedded in the side of her head, its wielder fought away from it by her mother, who’d all but collapsed on her daughter’s body. I couldn’t hear her sobs, but I could see her back shiver and her stomach convulse. I ran over to help her but, by the time I’d reached her, her breath had evened out into stillness, and a gaping hole in her chest was on full display.

I fear that this suffering is all my fault. It sounds pathetic, really. But my father warned me each time I’d tried to ‘reason’ with him, each time I’d tried to follow the teachings of my counsellor and of the townspeople I’d encountered. He _told me_ , right from the beginning, that a king’s greatest duty was to ensure balance in the world through the natural order dictated by the goddess. And I’d questioned that very scripture, I’d threatened to scrap it, and I’ve been punished.

No.

The goddess is not that cruel; rather, she taught my family to do the right thing to avoid disaster, and I deliberately ignored her saving hand. All of this is not so much a punishment as it is a future that I could have avoided if not for my selfishness.

I have made many prayers to her for some awakening, and I can only hope that my father approves of my progress, of my studying of crests and the benefits of our system, of my becoming closer to the church of seiros. So far he has not talked, but his ghost has stood by me, regardless of my sins.

I am eternally grateful.

Description of my family – Dimitri

My father:

Blond hair, cut a bit above the shoulder and brushed over the back of his head to not obscure vision. Blue eyes. Long face. Pale skin. A blond beard, thick, but well organised and treated with care. Tall, over 6ft. He liked the blue of Faerghus, was patriotic, and a good king.

My step-mother:

Chestnut hair, similar to El’s, but a bit darker. It was short, up to her chin, and curled into ringlets. Dark blue eyes. A rounded face. Very pale skin, almost white entirely. A mole on her jawline, near her left ear. She was a little smaller than I am now (180cm). She didn’t talk much to me, she seemed like a sad woman, but she was always welcome in Faeghus and seemed to take comfort in talking to her friend Cornelia.

Glenn:

Electric blue hair, up to his shoulder blades, he usually tied it up into a ponytail. ~~Unlike Felix~~ , his hair didn’t grow any longer than that, which is a shame, it was a nice colour. His hair’s curls were looser than my step-mother’s, but overall he had much curlier hair than his father. ~~Only Felix had straight hair in his family.~~ Turquoise eyes. Apparently that was what his mother’s eyes looked like, ~~and Felix instead took after _her_ father who is from Sreng and has piercing red-brown eyes. ~~Glenn was still growing, and almost as tall as Rodrigue, who is a tiny bit taller than me. He was awfully kind to me and we have so many memories together.

I fear that writing them down will ruin the magic associated with them, so I shan’t.

But if I forget then I shall.

But I won’t.

If I do I will. Ah but then I would not be able to.

 ~~Perhaps it is better to~~ no, I can’t forget.

Perhaps I should?

Rodrigue is coping well, being proud as oppose to upset.

Perhaps that is harsh; I’m sure he feels both.

I am not

I didn’t draft this part.

For now… a physical description of them all will suffice. If I worry too much about my memories, I will not be able to study for our future.

~~I wonder what Felix is feeling?~~

I must reject his letter and uphold the natural order.

I must reject his letter and uphold the natural order.

I must reject his letter and uphold the natural order.

No I need to be wording my reflections better so as to drill in the proper message

~~I must ignore my feeling~~

~~I must reject my feelings and~~

I must reject my feelings until I overcome ~~them so as to~~ uphold the natural order.

I must reject my feelings until I overcome them, to uphold the natural order.

I must reject my feelings until I overcome them, to uphold the natural order.

I must reject my feelings until I overcome them, to uphold the natural order.

I must reject my feelings until I overcome them, to uphold the natural order.

-

The professor turned a few pages only to be met with the same line scribbled obsessively. The handwriting started out neat – once it was clear what he wanted to write repeatedly and wasn’t rushing or rambling anymore – but then it became weaker.

The letters became bigger by the smallest amount, they started to look _too_ loopy and connected, as if he was no longer pulling pen off paper.

After the third page of written chanting, the script was pristine once more, suggesting that he either straightened up and tried to reclaim his earlier neatness, or he came back to it another day.

The extra parchments folded into the journal here suggested the second option. But what was more worrying was the note at the end of the last page of his rambles:

> ‘I will write my mantra on parchment from now onwards father! I thought that you should know, just in case you try to look in our journal to find my daily reminders of restraint!’

They presumed that Dimitri was trying to save space in the diary, but just the thought of how many parchments must have been wasted on meaningless, compulsive rituals had the professor sighing.

Poor kid. So much time, so many materials, wasted on self-torture.

-

3rd Harpstring Moon – Rodrigue

I read his highness’ account and, to be honest, I am about as moved as I am worried. I hope that, one day, he will be able to recall events of the tragedy without suffering to the extent he is now. I can only hope that this is not wishful thinking.

I also tried to give him the letters again, stating that his restraint is a lot better now that he is being careful and truly seeing the benefits his duty has on our kingdom. I very much doubt that a platonic letter could cause him any internal struggles.

He denied my offers fervently.

“Why are you so worried your highness?” I eventually asked.

“I am…. afraid….” He announced slowly, almost reverently, as if every word was its own prayer. Dedue stood near him fiercely protective, and I attempted to make peace with him with a placating expression, before returning my attention to the prince.

“Of what your highness?”

“My father sent you a letter…. did he not….?” He bowed his head. “I have….. put Felix….. in…. danger…” He shook his head and brought his hands to it. “I cannot… bear…. To read his words… if they are his last….”

I remember that letter. The sickness it brought me. But I also remember the cruelty of its brilliance, of the assurance in its command that it was not asking too much of me. Only a second born son, no heir.

He is an heir now. I took a risk.

“The order is now obsolete,” I said, “king Lambert asked that I sacrifice my second son to the kingdom, since he wasn’t an heir.”

I waited for the words to sink in.

“He is heir now, your highness.” Dedue filled in, rather astutely I might add, considering that, for all I know, he has no idea who Felix is.

“Yes…” He considered, taking a hand away from his face to reach for a letter before drawing it back as if it had been burned.

“I cannot…. still……. His brother…… he is alone… now….. all…. my fault….. I cannot bear….. what he has to say…. I cannot…..”

I took the letters back with a sigh and turned from him with a nod to his guard. I have put the letters into my drawer for safe keeping. Alongside the order for Felix’s execution.

For now, since only myself and his highness remain in the know about the plot to execute him, Felix is safe, after all that time I spent grieving him.

In the end, I couldn’t even mourn Glenn properly; I’d already come to terms with losing one of my children, it’s just that the one being sacrificed for the prince ended up being different to the plan.

I cannot bear to tell Felix how Glenn’s death has saved his own, it would only hurt him further.

-

_Well_ , the professor thought, _that explains that. No real reason to continue reading then._

They were about to close the diary when they thought that actually, it would be unfair to starve their peers of the drama they’d been waiting so patiently to find. Especially with such an abundance of it. They’ll just keep the sadder, post-tragedy extracts to themselves.

On that note, perhaps it would be worth reading the earlier passages again. Some comic relief to make up for the agonising later entries.

-

The meeting room was silent besides the occasional flick of pages.

Sylvain sat next to the professor on one side, whilst Ingrid glared at him from the other to keep him from taking a peek at the journal from over the professor’s shoulder.

Dimitri sat opposite Sylvain, with Felix on his left and two empty chairs on his right. From Dimitri’s point of view, Claude sat to the left of Sylvain (who was on the professor’s left, who was on Ingrid’s left) and to the right of Gilbert.

The only other members of the council present were Annette and Mercedes who were seated to Felix’s left. The three of them had previously been involved in an animated discussion about make-up, which Felix had become invested in due to the girls’ influence.

Of course when Dimitri had asked about it, (at a fair-to-ask time of course, when Felix had painted abstract art across his eyelids and his appreciation of it was undeniable) he had said in a rush,

“I’m just practicing my precision! It’s for my sword technique! I can make use of this for camouflage!”

Dimitri smiled a little at the memory. Though the weak little thing dropped immediately when the professor chuckled again.

This whole thing had really started because, as king, Dimitri would need to learn how his predecessors worked.

What filled their day to day lives. What they thought about day to day. How they planned their weeks.

This need for knowledge had led to the professor being assigned the task of leafing through his father’s journal.

Which _seemed_ like a great idea, except that they were suddenly incredibly invested in whatever Lambert had to say, and had spent over half an hour ravenously absorbing the past King’s words.

The professor snickered as they finished reading the diary’s contents, before flicking a few pages back, pointing to a line, and then sliding the book over to Sylvain who devoured it hungrily and howled with laughter.

“Oh my- Oh my _Goddess!_ ”

His gaze flickered between the book and Dimitri, before meeting the professor’s, at which point they both smirked, before grazing the book again and returning to Dimitri to ask, “You good buddy?”

“Me?” Dimitri squeaked, slightly anxious given how the entire meeting had been stopped to read a diary which he could only _guess_ held his darkest secrets. And now everyone in the meeting was staring at him and trying to gather, from his exterior alone, whatever on earth Sylvain had found.

“Ye-ah!” Sylvain continued breathlessly, still wheezing, “You getting a little-” _wheeze_ “-a little-” _wheeze_ “-a little hot and sweaty next t,,, next to,,,-” _a wheeze which escalated into a bark of laughter_ “-next to-!” _loud banging on the table and cackling, the type which exercises your core like sit-ups._

“Spit it out you fool.” Felix spat from over Dimitri’s shoulder.

“No don’t!” Dimitri panicked.

“Why not? What’s he got to say about me? What does he dare to say?! Speak up you pathetic jester! You! You absolute swineherd! You red goose!”

“Hish sitighn neggs to- arghAHAHAHAHA” Sylvain slurred through the pain in his chest, dibbling slightly on the table, for which Ingrid draped herself over the professor’s lap to lean over to slap him.

At this point Gilbert came to the rescue, trying to reorganise the meeting and calm Sylvain down. His attempts were mostly successful as Sylvain was reduced to trembling in his chair with teary eyes, biting his lips to stifle laughter every time his eyes made contact with Dimitri. But the meeting was ready to continue. At least until the professor spoke up.

“You do know though,” They began, lifting up the - now closed - diary, “Don’t you Gilbert?”

Sylvain spat across the table, startling Ingrid wide awake from her almost comatose-state of boredom and invoking her rage simultaneously, as she eyed the moistened table she’d just forced him to wipe down.

As their bickering ensued in the background, Gilbert affirmed, “If you are referring to his majesty’s…. _problem_ when he was younger, then yes. His father _was_ rather concerned.” He eyed Dimitri, who in turn glanced at Felix, who had somehow managed to lose interest in the conversation entirely, from the moment that Sylvain had piped down.

This was most likely because the conversation was _seemingly_ no longer about him.

Dimitri internally begged for the _seemingly_ to remain uncorrected.

“It’s okay though,” The old knight continued, “He will take a good wife, and have many children for our humble kingdom. Won’t you, Dimitri?”

“Oh yes!” The disbelief in his own tone made him sound sarcastic, but there was such strong resolve and innocence in his eyes that you had to assume it was not Dimitri controlling his tone. It seemed more likely that his own voice, hyperaware of the lie, was pulling the truth out of the closet.

“And so will Felix.” The old man continued.

“And so will I what?” Felix asked, genuinely curious, but still with that sharp edge. He swivelled round on his chair to show interest in Gilbert’s conversation, when it had previously been in Annette’s.

“Marry a good woman of Faerghus and have many children.”

“Nah.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

The professor gently slapped Sylvain across the stomach to try to quiet him as he continued to wipe the long table and hold in his laughter.

“Pardon for what? You’re bad hearing? You’d need to pardon your doctor for that, for letting you get into that state, or pardon the goddess for making you useless in your old age.”

“You won’t take a wife?” He pushed on incredulously.

Dimitri had turned to face him, looking down at him with wide eyes. Eyes which were screaming. Whether it was because Felix was being _very_ Felix and ignoring noble duties which Dimitri could only _dream_ of denying, or whether it was because of the fact that Felix was to remain single and forever a faraway daydream, open but unavailable (the most Dimitri could ask for), was unknown. But everyone, even Ingrid - who could not even _see_ his sweet gaze - was aware of the expression in the eyes pointed at Felix.

And Gilbert, like a reincarnation of his father, was very worried.

“Aaaaarh, but you must! You wi-ill!” He spluttered, still trying to reason with Felix.

“Nah. Fraldarius has already established that I’m gayer than Ingrid’s sparkly highlighter,” He turned to Ingrid, “Which I’m only using as a comparison so that I can point it out to everyone.” He raised his index finger at her, “It’s the wrong shade, by the way. Waaaay too orange, you need to go purple.”

“But my skin isn’t purple, Felix-”

“It isn’t about skin, it’s about undertone!” He punctuated with his hand in a pinching gesture near his face, “And anyway, it’s still way too much, you look like a lighthouse.” He returned to Gilbert, “So I’m not marrying. I don’t want children. Either my uncle stops being a pussy and puts his dick in one, or my bloodline ends with me.”

There was an audible gasp from a few members of the meeting – though at this point it may be more fitting to call them the audience.

There was a pause, and then a stuttered,

“How wonderful~” from Dimitri.

“No your majesty!”

The professor hit Sylvain in the stomach again, and this time it did the opposite of what was intended, and made him choke, coughing saliva straight onto the cloth he was holding.

“Sylvain!” Ingrid hurled herself over the professor’s chair to beat him.

“How would you say something that would make even the goddess hate you so easily~? How do you do that~?”

“Your majesty no-!”

“The goddess doesn’t hate shit – what are you even on about?” He smiled sadly, avoiding eye contact, “Marry whoever you want.”

“Ah~ but that, that would be~”

“-A woman, your majesty! Wouldn’t it!”

“Ah-” Dimitri looked torn, eyes darting backward and forth, deciding on the best course of action, all while breathing heavily.

“It would, wouldn’t it?!” The old man was frantic now.

“Sylvain stop laughing I can’t hear anything over your stupid-!”

“Ah it would be-” _an animalistic, laboured breath_ “-it would-”

“ _What is it boar_?! _Spit it out_!!”

“Ah~! I~” _another breath_ “I perhaps~”

“Ingrid, _get_ your leg _off_ my- _AHHRGH_!!!”

“Felix, please leave his majesty alone-”

“ _Answer_ boar!!” _An irritated clicking of fingers like a countdown._

Dimitri cried out as if he was wounded.

“Felix you must-”

“Dimitri!!” The clicking evolved into clapping in front of his face, as if he was trying to flush the thoughts out of Dimitri’s mouth as one would flush a boar out of a forest to impale it on a spear. “Do you not like women or something???”

“Felix-!” _An attempt to get the king to turn back around to face him and not the Fraldarius heir._

“Sylvain you _stupid_ alpaca!! I’ll leave you in peace when you stop spitt-!!”

“My penis – _HURTS_ – you fat shit!!” Sylvain yelled.

_More clapping_

“I can’t-!” _An almost sob._

“Stop! Spitting! You! Donkey!!!” _Slaps heard between each syllable._

“Felix, you will have to leave the meeting if you cause his majesty any more distress!”

“My father,, he,,” _An actual sob_ “He couldn’t rid me of my,,, of,, of my,, affect-,, my” a _gagging noise._

“ _ShhhhHHHHH_!” Gilbert looked more alert now then he had the entire war.

The professor finally spoke up from where they remained pinned down by an angry, squabbling Ingrid, their face entirely expressionless, despite the discomfort. “But you love Felix don’t you, Dimitri?”

“Professor!” Gilbert snapped his head around, mortified.

The king hunched over until his head almost touched the table. He sank into post-panic depression, accepting his loss in this strange verbal battle. They’d flushed him out of the thicket; the boar was impaled.

“Y-yes.”

Silence.

In the background, Ingrid and Sylvain ceased their scuffle, Sylvain still half thrown off his chair, legs kicked over one chair-arm, his throat being pinned to the other by Ingrid, who had a knee on his stomach.

A giggle forced a vibration in his neck which Ingrid felt and clamped down on, looking Dimitri in his (very fearful) eyes as he sat back up.

“What was that your majesty?”

“I-,,, No I-,,, That’s,,, that,,, no- I- no-,,, that- I- meant-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake boar!” Felix growled, before sighing and making an attempt at an approachable face. It wasn’t very effective. Perhaps it was a face he would personally approach. For a fight. Felix did love fights. “Dimitri…”

“I’m so-rry!” The king answered shakily, his voice cracking halfway through.

“It’s alright your majesty,” Gilbert assured him immediately (though how he assumed the apology was for him - or the kingdom – was well beyond everyone present), “we’ll get you some good help and you’ll be normal again in no time-”

Felix slammed his hand down on the table.

“It’s not ‘ _alright’_!” He hissed.

He glared daggers at Dimitri’s lowered head. His eyes burning with such intensity it was as if he was trying to light a fire in the heap of hay that was the king’s hair.

And with that, all the attention was back on his majesty.

Everyone waited with baited breath to see what Dimitri’s reaction to the outburst – rejection – would be. They probably hoped it would be worthwhile, dramatic even, something to gossip about. They didn’t wait long at all, and they weren’t disappointed.

Dimitri promptly got up, and tried to excuse himself with an obvious knot in his throat. All eyes were on him as he gasped like a teary fish. A few of them – the women’s eyes, he noted – were filled with pity. On the other hand, Claude looked vicariously embarrassed, and Sylvain was still on the brink of laughter. The professor and Gilbert remained mostly neutral and, in a sense, welcoming. And Felix?

Dimitri couldn’t face him.

Once it was pretty obvious that he intended to leave, and the professor had waved a dismissive hand at him despite the lack of communication, Dimitri finally made to exit. And then fainted.

In conclusion, Lambert had failed.

The bloodline was ended.

And so has this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo,,, I just finished going back and adding all the indents that Ao3 decided to remove without consulting me 👁👄👁
> 
> Original note:  
> woooo, I hope this reads okay. Goddamn. I've kinda drifted from FE3H since I wrote this, but there r other chapters "^^. I will try to post them soon, they are already written. I might go over them, I might not. I didn't go over this chapter so I do hope it wasn't TOO tragic.
> 
> Also, idk who needs to hear this but uhhhhh, don't let your kids find ur p0rn collection. Pls. The child mind does not know what that info (I say from experience) it's fun to laugh at in hindsight or in fiction but yh... pls keep your collection out of small, grabby hands ://///////


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two here we gooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oki doki, all chapters have been written ages ago, but I never got round to actually spellchecking them... I didn't want this to rot forever so I'm posting it,,, don't know if anyone still reads FE3H fics but,,,, I put a lot of effort and time into this. Even if it never got looked over, I'm pretty proud of it, and how it came out (or, at least, how I THINK it came out,,,, like I said,,, I haven't re-read it) so I hope you all enjoy it too! "^^

Except that it hasn’t.

Because Dimitri wasn’t the only one harbouring _feelings_.

-

As she watched the prince fumble over his exit and faint, Annette was suddenly reminded of a scene from a few months ago, back when she and Felix were on stable duty together.

-

“I don’t _care_ whether the boar puts his mask back on or not! Let him wallow in his hatred! That’s how he’s always been!”

“He wasn’t like that at the academy-”

“That was his _mask!_ ” Felix roared, slamming the clean hay he’d brought to Dorte’s stall onto the floor childishly.

“You didn’t see him at the rebellion.” He seethed.

She hadn’t, and didn’t really feel entitled to argue with him on what he saw; not when Dimitri’s problems were now on full display for everyone to see. She sighed, picking up some more hay as Felix stormed past her to grab a second handful of his own. It was probably unfair for everyone to dismiss his warnings back at the academy.

“You were just tryna look out for us weren’t you?” She murmured to the hay.

Felix whipped his head around to look over his shoulder at her, “what?”

“Back at the academy.” She clarified, louder, but no more confident, “you kept calling him a ‘beast’, a ‘boar’, and kept saying he took pleasure in killing and that he was lying to us all… And we all just… ignored you.” She watched as his expression switched from surprised to evaluative out of the corner of her eye. “Looking back, there were so many red flags but it all sounded so ludicrous that we just-” she wrung her hands, “ _I dunno_ \- …thought you were full of it or something…”

“Annette-”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, overcome with anger at her past self. Could she have helped their king if only she’d listened?

“Do you believe me now?” Felix asked calmly. She turned to face him, and found that he’d already done the same, even if he was making eye contact with Dorte as opposed to her.

“That he squashed a rebellion cruelly for fun? Yeah.” She huffed softly, some of the hay dropping to the floor as her grip loosened. “Between the repression and the murder of his family, I can see him getting pretty messed up back then too.” She bent over to pick up the pieces. “I still can’t help but feel sorry for him and all that.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just,,, something like himpathy.”

“Himpathy?”

“Yanno, when someone sexually abuses someone else but you’re _so_ used to people telling you that ‘boys just express themselves badly but they have good intentions’,” She quoted with a pitiful imitation of a scolding older maid. “Or ‘oh he’s _just_ a boy, he doesn’t _know_ any better’, that you end up really thinking that all boys are just a _little_ violent by default and that if they look a bit sorry it’s probably not their fault, or they’re learning from it but,,, they’re like,,, totally not??” She paused to explain herself better. “Like I know Dimitri hasn’t _sexually_ assaulted anyone but he did just,,, yanno,,, rip people up for fun,,, and… we all just felt bad for him… and still kinda do… which is why it’s _something like_ it… I guess…”

Felix looked confused, or thoughtful, as if he was trying really hard to think back to when he was little. Trying to remember a time when the servants at home last blinked an eye at him. Let alone spoke to him.

“Maybe you’re… _not_ used to people saying that!” Annette giggled awkwardly, “I mean, you _were_ the one with the good sense to distance yourself from him once you saw him at his worst, and,,, yanno,,, Mercedes did tell me all about it as a lady-to-lady warning sooo-”

“Yeah.” Felix said at last.

“Yeah?”

He smiled mirthlessly at the sky, “I once got told at castle Gautier that Miklan was just ‘play fighting’ when he would torture Sylvain constantly. And when I tried to point out the obvious cruelty they said I was acting like a ‘sensitive girl’.” He took a moment to consider his admission and lowered his voice. “A lot of people called me a girl as a kid because I cried a lot.” He furrowed his brow. “Maybe Leonie’s right, maybe girl isn’t much of an insult.” He let out a breath and smirked, “especially if they come up with terms that prove those insufferable old maids _dead wrong._ ”

Annette wasn’t quite sure what to make of his little epiphany so she instead made a move to go and throw more hay into the stables. Felix followed her.

“Maybe women are just closer to the goddess or something,” Felix joked – despite his claims that he was not one to do that – “since they’re the same gender.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” she rolled her eyes, “we’re not the goddess’ chosen ones who get to know all, yanno.”

“No, of course not.” He said, looking pointedly at the path she was taking from the stables to the stack of hay, “Or you would know I left the bucket-”

_CLANG_

“OOOOOOH! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE IT SO CLOSE TO THE HAY!” She whined.

“I… did try to warn you….” He deadpanned.

They’d worked a bit longer in silence. Annette took the time to fully absorb some of Felix’s earlier comments. _So that’s why, according to Dorothea and Leonie, he had such a generous view of women, huh._

In the meantime, Felix was apparently doing his own internalising, because he suddenly spoke up whilst she was grabbing horse feed from a barrel.

“What did you mean earlier,” he asked, standing up from where he’d been crouching to meticulously spread the hay out evenly (even when she’d tried to explain that the horses would just kick it about), “when you said he’d been ‘between repression and his family being murdered’?”

“Uhhhhhh,,,,” Annette faltered, “you didn’t know?”

“Know what?” His eyes narrowed, not so much in suspicion as in confusion.

She gathered up some grain and oats with a scoop and walked over to Felix to deposit the food in the feeder behind him.

“You didn’t know about Dimitri repressing-” _-his feelings for a certain ‘blue rat’?_ She finished internally, catching herself before she blurted it out loud. Her father had refused to ‘name and shame the criminal’ whilst the information could damage Dimitri’s reputation, but she quickly realised that Dimitri only had one _blue_ friend. Unless…

“Hey did you have any other blue friends?”

“Blue… friends….??” Felix repeated dumbly.

“Uhhhhh!” She panicked, tossing the whole scoop into the feeder alongside the food and then glaring at it instead of making a move to grab it.

Felix raised an eyebrow at the behaviour but turned around awkwardly and retrieved it for her, handing it back to her innocently, still awaiting an explanation.

She sighed, taking the dirty scoop. “Look, my father said that Dimitri liked someone – probably platonically and if not _definitely_ just as a child,,, not like,, _now_ or anything… haha… – and that the king described this someone as a ‘blue rat’.”

“‘Blue rat’?”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, “I know it had to be a boy because he was forced to ignore his feelings since, yanno,, he needed an heir and all that… So it couldn’t be Ingrid… And blue doesn’t really seem like Sylvain’s thing so…”

Jumping suddenly as she realised she was leading Felix straight to the same conclusion she had reached, she squeaked, “S-so I waaas just wondering if you knew anyone that looked,,, blue!! who might,,, yanno,,, have interested Dimitri,,, platonically!!”

Felix thought about it carefully, as if the answer wasn’t obvious, and his face fell when he found his answer. He paled and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and pupils tiny shots of black hidden in a fat ring of amber.

“I-it’s not necessarily love-!!” She squealed quickly.

“He loved Glenn.” Felix breathed in disbelief.

Of _course_ he had a brother. _Thank goodness._

“Yes, yes, that must be it!” She encouraged.

A lone tear split his right cheek in half before dropping to the floor. With its weight off his face, he was free to take a deep breath through his nose. He held it as a second tear fell, cracking his face yet again, and this time dribbling down his neck. A hair of spit connecting his two lips shook as he opened his mouth and let out his shuddering breath.

“This whole time when I thought he cared about….” He squeaked painfully as he took in another mouthful of air, “and he loved _Glenn_ ….!!”

_Oh shit did he….???_

“No, no, that must not be it!” She discouraged.

“Ohhwwwu!” He wailed. “How would you know??!!”

How _would_ she know? She tried to think back to when and if her father had ever given any description of the ‘rat’.

“Of course he would love Glenn.” She could hear Felix moaning in the background, dropping dramatically to the floor, his previous work all disregarded. “Glenn was everything he wanted to be, he used to sit next to him at dinner and say that it was so he could be opposite me when I would wail at him.” He began.

“He was humouring me!” He spat. “Humouring me! He’s always been a false prince then?!” He supported his face with his hand, “at least… false…. to me….”

_Blue rat blue rat blue rat blue rat, what else did he say about the boy Dimitri couldn’t love-_

“So that’s why he went mental after Glenn died. Nothing to live for after his love was gone?? Nothing!!??”

His voice turned tiny, “Not even me? Not even as a friend…? Was I _that_ meaningless to him…?”

_Blue rat blue rat blue rat blue-_

He started to cry in earnest, hugging his knees to his chest and letting his head droop down onto them.

_Come ON Annette, blue rat blue rat, what did father say about that-_

“Soooooo much makes sense now. He was always more comfortable around Glenn.”

_Blue rat blue rat- !!!!!!!! ‘I am afraid (something something) his highness seems too rigid around “the rat” (something something) it may lead him to catch on and (something something)’_

“He always seemed jumpy around me.” Felix murmured bitterly in between his legs. “He could’ve just told me he hated-”

“YOU _ARE_ THE RAT!!” Annette yelled.

Felix’s head shot up, and his brows rose in confusion.

“uhhh-” She backtracked.

“Stop umming and ahhing, tell me!” He yelled impatiently, _desperately_.

“My father said that he was worried about prince Dimitri blowing his own cover or… something like that.” She paraphrased thoughtfully. “He said that it was obvious that the prince liked his ‘blue rat’ because he was always too rigid around him.”

There was a pause, and then Felix met her eyes, hopeful.

“You’re not making that up?” His voice was shaking, as were his arms.

“No. I would never!”

They paused again to let Felix put himself back together in silence. Eventually, he took a deep breath and rose from the hay he’d thrown himself in.

“Well… then… I’m sorry about all that…” He said, awkwardly scrubbing at his face. “I’ll… fix up the hay I displaced-”

“NO!” She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the stables, “let me just toss some more grain into their feeders and then we can talk about Dimitri and… your feelings for him.”

“Kuh!” He scoffed, voice still levelling out, “what feelings? For who?”

“Feelix!” She whined, “Is that _even_ disputable now?”

He glared at her, his eyes roving around her face, waiting for some form of judgement, and when he seemed satisfied with what he’d found there, he sighed in defeat and shook his head. His face dropped its scowl and took on a more sombre look as he resigned himself to his fate.

He didn’t like conversation. Especially conversation about feelings. Annette knew that much.

Still, he waited for her to finish with the stables and then allowed himself to be lead to a small, family friendly pub, recently reopened in Garrech Mach. The building had evidently been destroyed by war and rebuilt from scratch; nonetheless, being the only food vendor for miles, Annette assumed it wasn’t actually that hard for the owner to scrounge up the gold for its restoration with Ingrid living nearby.

“You think Ingrid has made any… investments here?” She asked Felix.

“With the amount she eats? Undoubtedly.” He responded, ducking under a hanging flower basket filled with pink flowers to get to the red double-doors.

“Ladies first.”

“I think your closer to fainting than I am Felix.”

“Who said anything about fainting?”

“Your legs in the stables.”

He growled at her and stalked his way in first as she laughed behind him. At least he was acting more like Felix again. They got up to the counter and Felix ordered whatever roast they had to offer, whilst Annette seemed awfully intrigued by their desserts menu. She heard Felix grumbling something about her needing to eat properly but she ignored him and pulled out her purse to pay for both of them.

“You didn’t have to pay.”

She smirked, “yeah, _well_ … Now you owe me! So we _have_ to go out again sometime! Yay!”

He let out a sharp exhale which was the ever-cynical-Felix equivalent of a laugh, and then turned from the counter the look for a table.

“We’ll take that one over there!!” Annette beamed at the man taking their order, whilst pointing at the table nearest the window at the back of the building. It was surrounded by ivy and had a dandelion in a glass bottle in the middle of the table.

“Alright then.” The man smiled; he was an old man, around her father’s age, plump, with a large beard and a deep kind voice. It made the place a little more homely. She’d probably bring Mercedes here too.

She grabbed Felix and pulled him over to the table excitedly, ignoring his protests at being tugged.

He fell onto one of the red chairs whilst she gracefully took a seat on the opposite, adjusting her skirt as she did so.

“Tuck your legs in,” she pouted, “there’s space, and it looks like your trying to run away.”

-

To be honest, he was tempted. Even in if meant escaping his dinner alongside this conversation. But this talk was well overdue. He felt that if he’d had a normal upbringing, or perhaps even if he’d only resisted the urge to twist himself into a spiteful, angry monster, then maybe he’d have gossiped about how pretty he thought the boar was, or how he’d once – and maybe still – had a crush on him. Maybe he would have sat down with Hilda or Lysithea and complained about the changes in the boar’s behaviour, lamented about feeling left out. Maybe all of those feelings would have felt lighter, like jokes or, no, like they were being supported. They definitely wouldn’t have festered in his wounded heart, corroding his valves and spearing each blood cell with poison.

Whatever. It’s all a long winded way to say: _yeah, I should probably tuck myself in._

“Ugh.” He groaned aloud but did as asked, turning to face her and uncrossing his arms, choosing to ball his hands up into fists and leave them on the table. She slid her smaller, gloved hands over his in a way that could have been construed as romantic if they were not both in love with other people. As it was, her gentle touching and loving gaze were but symbols of her support. And he… did appreciate it.

Despite how caged it made him feel – unable to deal with care and kindness after being treated as a dispensable second child his whole life – some part of him was distantly content with the affection he received nowadays. Some inner baby-Felix, which managed to survive the conditions of his mouldy, decrepit heart, cried out for joy when Mercedes regarded him as a precious baby brother, or the professor cooed at him like a hen to its chick.

 _Why’m I getting all poetical?_ He thought. _Is the stress turning me into Lorenz??_

Regardless, he basked in the little attention she gave him, and thought about how he might like to one day be able to care for others like that.

“Where do you wanna start?” She asked patiently, clearly channelling some inner Mercedes.

“I think I’ll just tell you the whole story.” He said.

-

“Your highness.” Glenn said, kneeling before the young girl at the door. They weren’t expecting visitors _this_ early, Glenn’s hair wasn’t even tied yet, and he hated having it down.

“Some of mother’s hair colour got mixed in with father’s,” he’d said a week ago after telling Felix about the royal visit approaching, “I better make sure my hair’s tied so it’s not too obvious. Or else his highness isn’t gonna recognise me as a Fraldarius.”

Felix thought it was silly, but then Glenn got mad and said that Felix understood nothing because his hair was identical in colour to their father’s, and the rest of their bloodline, even if its texture was unusual.

“Mum must have some pretty strong genes to break the cycle all of a sudden.” He’d said.

“What are jeens?”

Glenn had simply scoffed whilst rummaging around for something or another, replying grumpily, “who cares?”

Felix cared, and had asked every servant around the castle, each one giving him some random answer. It allegedly had something to do with crests, and something to do with appearance. And it got passed around, _apparently_.

 _He_ hadn’t been given it yet.

But suddenly none of that mattered. Because he was meeting whoever the king’s highness was – _a weird way of saying daughter? For royals? –_ and she was really pretty.

“What’s your name?” Felix stepped forward and asked eagerly.

The girl opened her mouth and Glenn immediately grabbed at Felix’s head and tried to shove him on the floor.

“Bow!!!” He hissed.

He did _vaguely_ remember hearing something about needing to bend over to say hello to the royal family. And his father making him practice it. Oh well. He bent at the waist and back up again as fast as possible. Stumbling clumsily forwards immediately and grabbing the girl’s hand.

“You can tell me now right?” He asked, excited.

“My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaidydd, and your-”

“That’s way too long!” Felix cried out, “can I call you Dima??!!”

Glenn tried to answer something for the girl again but Felix turned and growled, “goodness Glenn! Let her talk!”

Upon turning back around he noticed that Dima had gotten an awkward look in her eye.

“What’s wrong, do you not like Dima? It’s just the first part of your long name.” He justified.

“No, no that’s fine… just,” she squeezed his hand, “I’m a boy.”

Oh. Well that was unexpected.

“I didn’t know boys could be pretty.” He smiled shyly. “My bad!” He leaned closer and ran his hand through some of Dima’s hair, entranced, “Everything about you is _so soft!!”_

Dimitri, on the other hand, seemed unused to such undivided attention and blushed profusely at the curiosity of the other boy. “Y-you didn’t tell me your name-”

“Felix!” He chirped, looking directly into Dima’s eyes. They were really, really blue. He thought they might have a hint of gold in the centre, and he gently cupped Dima’s chin and brought his face closer to get a good look. Actually, the more he looked, the more it looked brown, but… no… exciting brown, like sand at the beach. _Just a little closer-_

Meanwhile, Dimitri was getting more than just a little flustered, going from having never had any physical contact with _anyone,_ besides his father, to feeling a stranger’s breath on his lips. He felt that if he opened his mouth too much, their lips might touch. He didn’t know if that sounded great, or horrendous, but he knew it would be too much right now.

“Felix…” He whispered, slightly worried.

“Your eyes are sort of like one of those beaches in paintings, a bit of sand and lots of sea.” The boy replied under his breath, as if to himself. “They’re nice.”

Warmth flooded Dimitri’s chest, a first wave of it as relief that Felix seemed pleased, and a second wave that he didn’t fully understand. “Thank-”

“FELIX!!”

At the sound of the other man – Glenn, as Felix had called him – shouting, the two jumped away from each other, though their hands stayed linked. This wasn’t good enough for Glenn who charged in between the two of them and dragged Felix with him to where he was standing beside their father.

Felix squealed angrily the whole three seconds he was being tugged away, and then stood silently in mortification at his father’s feet afterwards. His father, who was talking to Dima’s father, looked taken aback by Felix’s behaviour and profusely apologised. The king had given some sort of assurance that ‘that’s how kids are’ and that ‘they’ll learn’. But Felix didn’t really think he had anything to learn.

He looked back at Dima.

Dima was fiddling with his sleeve, but when he saw Felix looking at him he smiled all rosy, and Felix decided that his new friend smiling was _way_ more important than whatever the king wanted to teach him.

-

“Ooo!” Annette giggled. “Sounds like _someone_ had a crush from day one!”

“Heh. Yeah.” He said, awaiting some sort of judgment that didn’t arrive. He tightened his grip on her hand; it was small, and soft, and maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could imagine he was still in his own doorway, looking at the beach in Dima’s large eyes. He shut his eyes and screwed them up tightly.

“He was so easy to please.” He breathed. “…And so was I.”

“You were happy.” She agreed wistfully.

“I was.”

There was no emphasis, but it was clear to both of them that there was nothing to add there. Not with the way the boar was now. Even if there had remained a Dimitri in the beast back at the academy, he was gone now.

They were happy. They _were._

“I sent him letters after the tragedy y’know.” Felix said after a moment of silence. “He never replied, my old man claimed he never even opened them. He didn’t let me see him until the rebellion.”

Annette eyed him cautiously.

“Would you tell me about it?”

-

**[TW: Serious violence/gore. I mean, I did warn you guys before but uhhh, just in case you ignored me then, if it upsets you, move on NOW. The point of this scene is to _really_ show why Felix is _terrified_ of Dimitri, so this scene is _intended_ to be unpleasant and scary. Although, I haven’t done my _worst_ , because,,, this isn’t a gore fic so it’d be rather unnecessary. Still tho, it keeps getting darker from here on out so if violence does trigger you and you haven’t already turned away pls just leave, and just enjoy the first chapter of this fic!]**

He’d been told by his father that serving as a squire for whatever unimpressive lord was involved in the suppression of this rebellion was a great idea. He’d claimed that it wouldn’t be a difficult battle, seeing as the enemy consisted of civilians, and that whilst he’d get some battle practice, they’d also likely surrender.

It would be a short fight, he’d claimed.

Bullshit.

The fight had started and Felix was immediately sickened by the sight of a civilian being cleaved in half, of another being beheaded. He’d been placed near the back lines so as to give him time to adjust. At the beginning he’d almost wanted to argue that he didn’t need it, but now he understood what they’d meant.

Time to adjust to the sight of death around you. Before you’d be the cause of it.

Regardless, he saw the soldiers around him start to move and steeled himself, unsheathing his blade and promising himself to appear as mature and experienced as possible. So much so that none of the soldiers in the ranks would be able to point to him and go ‘that’s the new boy who’s never seen a battle before’ or ‘they’re always that shaken for their first fight’.

As the lines before him broke away due to the chaos of battle he was finally met with his first enemy; a crazed woman with a war hammer came charging at him hoping to pierce armour. She’d found the wrong enemy, however. Felix was far too fast for her slow swings; he ducked and burst forward, under her swing and into her space, and cut her down quickly. She fell with torn off scream and a blood-filled grunt as she hit the floor.

She didn’t stop moving immediately.

He tried not to fixate on it.

He charged forwards, swiping at enemies that got close to him, always a calculated strike from the left shoulder to the right hip. It was always a deep enough gash to cut through the heart, but never deep enough to make his sword catch onto bone or flesh, leaving him free to fight another target.

In the thrill of battle he almost forgot how horrifying it all should have been. Almost.

But then one howl rang out, resounding in his ears.

It was far too long, too loud, to have come from a quickly dispatched soldier. But it was too consistent to have been the cries of many.

He turned to face the noise head on and watched as the crown prince tore off the mean’s other arm. The peasant man, armed with only a rake, fell to the floor unbalanced, and then roared in terror as Dimitri grabbed a leg.

“ _Stop it_.” Felix mumbled, his voice shaking, his pupils shrinking as his eyes twitched. He noted as he breathed that he was trembling.

A crunch sounded from beneath the prince’s hands and, as he pulled his hand away from the man’s thigh, half of the man’s leg stayed in it. The remaining stump poured blood all over the plains, the shattered bone at the centre of it flailing as the man writhed.

“ _Stop_.”

The prince went for the head, appreciating it with a glint in his eye, and an upturn to his lips. The enemies that should have charged at Felix, in his moment of weakness, ignored him entirely and swooped around to attack the prince. It didn’t make sense from a strategic perspective, Felix noted in the back of his mind, but these weren’t trained men, these were civilians. Upset civilians trying to make a stand. And now not only were they being killed for their anger, but their friends were being torn up for fun.

 _Friends_.

Felix could hear them calling a name across the battlefield, _Marcel Marcel_ , and their only response was an agonised wail from the dying, and a cold laugh from a demon.

Dimitri left the man, possibly Marcel – what good was it to name him at a time like this – and stormed the bubble of attackers approaching him. The ones at the front got off easily, their faces torn from them, their necks twisted. He didn’t intentionally take his time with them, but he still drew out their suffering. His heavy hands occasionally grabbed someone by the neck and tossed them; and it would have seemed harmless had his crest not given him to power to crush a windpipe with a touch. None of them seemed to stop moving immediately, but it wasn’t like the men Felix cut down either.

No.

Their screams could be heard clearly as they grabbed at the floor, at their weapons, at Dimitri, blindly. If they were lucky they got a kick to the head from the prince, which was akin to being kicked by a horse, whilst he gleefully ripped open another opponent. The unlucky fumbled around until their dying breath, or until the lack of one caused them to fade out of existence.

The ones at the back of the group however, they swallowed their pride and ran. They _retreated_.

They were leaving and Dimitri still _went after them_.

Felix couldn’t really remember what the deposited bodies of these people looked like; his brain forced the images out of his mind. But he remembered skinning, he remembered multiple punctured arteries, he remembered rounds of battering. He remembered that the prince had grabbed the back of a woman’s head so tightly that her skin began to open around the front, as if she was a doll stuffed so full that she was ripping at her seams. He remembered that the prince had then gouged out her eyes and shoved them down her throat, cursing someone or another that she must have reminded him of. All before tearing chunks of her teeth and gums, still attached to each other, out of her mouth as one would tear clumps of mud off a mined jewel. He knew it happened and yet, thankfully his mind could not produce more than foggy images of the event.

But something that Felix’s mind could not rid him of was that laugh. The passion, the joy, in his mindless giggling as he slaughtered. It was unhinged and unhuman.

Felix had come to that fight expecting to find Dima for the first time in years; for the first time since the tragedy.

Instead, Felix came here to find out that the Dima he’d longed to find had been missing the whole time, replaced by a boar who rampaged through the fields aimlessly, grabbing at the backs of retreating civilians and subjecting them to sickening torture which somehow appealed to him.

Sometime after the fight, perhaps it was immediately afterwards or perhaps it was on the journey back – he had imagined it so many times that he wasn’t sure which iteration was the truth anymore – Dimitri came to find him.

They didn’t talk at first, they just made eye contact. Felix broke it first, unable to look at the other boy’s face without feeling sick. Dimitri – no, he was the boar at this point – reached out to touch Felix’s face and Felix not only jumped away like a flea, but he gave out an aborted yelp, afraid that even the smallest noise could entice the boar into making him his next prey. When Di- the boar reached out again, more hesitantly, Felix tensed and screwed his eyes up tightly, beginning to shake with his desperation to not cry, to not show weakness, to not draw in the beast, to not encourage his bloodlust.

The hand fell away and Felix opened an eye, no less shaken than before, but now equally curious.

The boar’s face was unreadable, a blank slate with darkened eyes, something like anger lurking underneath.

“You saw.” He stated.

Felix didn’t reply.

“Felix.” He took a step closer and Felix didn’t move.

He took another step, flexing a hand, and Felix crumpled onto the floor in a panic, his hands shielding his closed eyes, yelling hoarsely.

“ _STOP IT_!!!”

“Felix-”

“ _GO AWAY_!!” The hands atop his head trembled and he hid his fingers in his hair, already imagining wonder on the boar’s face as he crushed each knuckle.

The boar sighed and then Felix felt air brush his nose before footsteps sounded that got further and further away.

He didn’t remember how long he sat there, but he did remember crying.

-

“I was mourning – I think.” Felix clarified. “It felt like the right thing to do, since I knew then, for sure, that Dima was dead and gone.”

He glared at the flowers outside the window uncertainly, “or at least, I hope he was gone. I hope Dima wasn’t lying to me all along. If he was I….”

He sighed.

Annette did too.

“What if, by some miracle,” she added quickly, to ensure that Felix believed she thought the idea ridiculous, when she, in reality, still held hope, “the ‘boar’ goes back to being Dimitri? How would you know?”

Felix thought carefully, but the answer only took him a second to find. “His eyes. He was always a terrible liar, when he was a child. The boar was better at lying, but his eyes always looked wrong for his face.” He took a deep breath. “So it was obvious it wasn’t him.”

“Would you accept him if he came back?”

“Of course-”

“Felix!” Annette hushed him, her eyebrows tightly knit. “I know this ‘boar’ doesn’t feel like Dimitri to you, but unless he’s dissociating that _is_ _actually him._ Maybe it’s Dimitri gone wrong, but it’s still Dimitri. Even if he finds the best in himself and becomes better, the past cannot be changed, and his old… tendencies will still be lurking.”

Felix _knew_ that, he _knew._ But some part of him wanted to whimsically brush it all off with a promise to himself that Dima loved him and that that’s ok. Maybe it was the old maid in him that wanted to give in and say ‘boys are a little violent but they mean well’ and forgive it all. It was a big part of him, he realised, that was ready to give it all up, to give in to the need to curl up at Dima’s feet, even if it made him the next victim of the boar’s mighty kicks. Maybe he’d just suffered so much that he didn’t really want to live at all, and was ready to commit suicide by loving a beast, even when he knew he’d be nothing but troubled for it.

“Felix…” Annette winced, and he realised that _goddess damn it I said that all out loud._

“I know it’s bad!” He started.

“I know you do.” She said quietly, as if trying to befriend a deer. “I think you both deserve love, so… you try and stay open about it, ok? …But only give him your love if he gives you proof of restraint.”

“Like how he was at the monastery?” He cringed; _I don’t want a beast in chains._

“No, better.” She assured, giving him another tap on the hand before glancing over to their right and giving the man bringing their food a blinding smile. They both brought their hands off the table as he set the plates down, smiling back at her gently. He didn’t say anything as he nodded and walked back to the counter, most likely because he could hear snippets of their deep and personal conversation and knew it wasn’t worth interrupting.

“At the monastery he was repressing that part of himself that he hated.” She said between bites of ice cream and chocolate cake. “It’s good that he hated it, because it’s clear that he knew what he did was wrong but,” another gulp, “I think he was so focused on being some… irredeemable villain, that he didn’t try to get better. And he didn’t reach out for help.” She considered her own point, bringing a finger to her chin. “I think he was being like my father; acting like he didn’t deserve happiness, to the point where he let himself become even worse than he had been originally, all because he didn’t ask for help. As if he didn’t have the right to learn to cope with trauma,, like everyone else.”

Felix nudged his untouched meat around his plate pensively, “so if he gets help… he’ll be more like he used to be?”

“I guess.” She then swallowed another mouthful of ice cream and pointed her spoon at Felix accusingly. “ _You_ have to go get help too though mr. grumpy! _Who_ was it that _told_ Dimitri he was an irredeemable villain?”

Felix dropped his knife onto his lap and gaped at her, pale.

“Please I’m not saying it was entirely unfair given what you’d seen. I don’t think anyone else would act different.” She placated, waving her spoon. “But you can’t keep it up ok? You have things to work through too ok? Then you guys can help each other!!”

He hummed noncommittally.

“Think about it!!” She encouraged, cheerily. “Wouldn’t that be a nice future? Where you guys can just,,, hug each other until the problems go away?”

Felix already thought plenty about such scenes; he could already see it in his mind’s eye, right down to the colour of their drapes.

He chose to fixate on that future, and took a large bite out of his food. It was nice.

-

Back at the present moment, as Felix met eyes with Annette he knew they’d both been thinking of the exact same conversation.

“No-”

“Felix!!” She argued, wringing her hands, “This is your moment to tell his majesty!!”

He gestured vaguely at the area where the large man had been awkwardly standing at the end of the meeting.

“He’s on the _floor_!”

They both looked over at his body.

“It _will_ be your moment!!” She amended.

“His moment for what?” Gilbert interrupted with measured anger. His brows furrowed, “what are you planning Annette?”

“Oh boy…” Claude groaned loudly as he poked at Dimitri’s forehead, where it didn’t make contact with the floor. “Care to lend a hand teach?”

The professor nodded from where they were crouched on the other side of the king and on the count of three the two of them lifted him up and made their way to the infirmary. Or Dimitri’s room. One of the two.

Felix watched as Annette sat up to see Dimitri getting towed out of the room as an angry Ingrid lectured Sylvain on something of another, and then turned to face her father.

“Well, Felix likes his majesty too so this is a perfect opportunity for them!” She winked conspiratorially.

Gilbert leaned back in his seat and eyed her as if he was reading her. His eyes flitted across her face, perhaps checking for signs of insincerity, before he relaxed slightly.

“Annette my dear,” he started, and, judging by the roll of her eyes, Annette _knew_ she was getting some sort of lecture, “his majesty needs-”

“-to be _happy_ , father!” She raised her eyebrows at him pleadingly, leaning on the table and clasping Mercedes’ hands. “Right Mercie?”

“Oh yes!” She said, not so quickly as to suggest an improvisation, but not too late to suggest any real thought about it, “I think he’s suffered quite enough!”

Felix looked from her to Gilbert, who clearly wasn’t convinced. If anything he looked… uncomfortable.

“Homophobic?” Felix suggested, sharply.

“Never.” The old man said quickly, shaking his head and his left hand. “But the king must have an heir, especially now, when the world is still recovering from war.”

Felix bit the inside of his cheek; he didn’t fancy the thought of children but… it couldn’t be avoided.

“We’ll adopt.” He said.

Gilbert gritted his teeth at this and leant forwards quickly, resting an elbow on the table and clenching his fist near his mouth. “An heir holds royal blood-”

“-So can any little orphan peasant if we stick some of Dimitri’s blood in a bag and hand it to them.”

Mercedes gave a little giggle. She did have quite a morbid sense of humour. Gilbert, on the other hand, was entirely unimpressed.

“The king _told_ me about what you did to his majesty as a child, Felix.” Gilbert seethed.

Now _this_ piqued his interest.

“What _I_ did???” He bellowed, slapping a hand over his chest. “He distanced himself from _me_!!”

“In an effort to save himself.”

“From what????”

Gilbert rose from his seat abruptly, picking up the journal that the professor had left behind on the table, tucking in his chair and making to leave. He had a smile on his face, but not the weary one that rarely saw the daylight. This smile reminded him of the boar, of false politeness acting as a black cloth covering fields of slaughter. It was a trap.

“I’ll show you.” He tapped the journal on his lips and then began to make his exit. It was a trap, but this old bastard wasn’t a threat. Felix could take him.

He got up, scowling, and walked straight past both Ingrid and Sylvain, who did not even bat an eyelid at him.

“Felix?” Annette questioned softly from behind him. “Father?”

Gilbert ignored her attempts to beckon them back to the discussion, as if he’d not heard them. He definitely had. Felix saw his sigh as his eyelids drooped upon hearing her voice. Still, he made no move to listen to her, but when had he ever?

“I’ll be alright.” Felix said over his shoulder, and then followed Gilbert out of the door, where he found the old man waiting for him silently.

He nodded at Felix as he made momentary eye contact with him, and then turned and led him down the stairs. They wandered around the monastery, taking strange turns through gardens and kitchens, skirting through the laundry room and out of a window before making it in and out of the entrance hall, and then out of the monastery entirely.

They walked off to the side of Garreg Mach, skirting the exterior of the bordering walls, until they broke away from its perimeter to trudge through a small forest. Peeking out from the tips of trees was the red roof of some sort of tower.

“Where are we going?”

Gilbert ignored him and, with that, the two were brought back to almost complete silence. Only leaves crunching and boots thudding punctuated their steps, bringing signs of life to otherwise quiet woods.

As they reached a clearing, which the entrance of the small tower stood in, Felix steeled himself for a fight. This little trip was most definitely some kind of trap, and hey, if Leonie didn’t give him one hell of a lesson about traps.

“Let’s go in, we can talk more freely inside.” Gilbert spoke calmly, heaving the oak door open noisily, its metal hinges rattling.

The tower was, from the looks of it, a simple two or three tiered cylindrical building made of grey stone, and red tiles. Despite its overall archaic appearance, Felix noted that parts of the walls had been reconstructed, the bricks in those areas lighter, and less worn. Somebody was taking care of this tower, so it was clearly still in use.

He stepped in warily, passing Gilbert slowly, his eyes searching the older man’s body for weapons or movement as he trekked past. Once he was inside, his eyes swept the room. It was dark, but the torches were lit; it was quiet, but he saw a shadow moving; it was empty, save for a single corkscrew staircase, a dark doorway on either side of him, and hay flooring.

“Don’t mind the staff here.” Gilbert said, smiling toothily before calling, as if to a servant, “I’ll have coffee today actually!” At first there was nothing, and then…

Mad rustling ensued as shadows flew across the walls.

In a split second multiple men were rushing at Felix from both directions. He unsheathed his first sword with a fast, practiced motion. The first man, to his right, wielded a sword, and was reasonably skilled with it. Felix still disarmed him quickly with a violent flick of the wrist before turning to his left despite it leaving his back open to attacks from the first man’s backup. It was a good thing he checked both sides nonetheless, because a lance skimmed his face as he made a last-second dodge, and he was forced to throw his sword at the man to throw him off balance. It was a risky tactic, but behind the man were other lance users, all packed much too tightly in a rough formation, and if they were to fall like skittles he’d have the opportunity to reorient himself. _It worked. Good._

He reached for his second sword, but his fingers skimmed only air and betrayal.

He had only a second to think _Gilbert, that bastard,_ before a hammer user to his right dashed him across the floor with a strike to the face.

When he came to, it was slow. Sounds buzzed slowly in and out, but they were so minute that it was hard to tell when there was actually noise, and when his ears were just ringing. He next became aware of being able to breathe from his nose, but could smell nothing. The air was damp, or at least, it felt damp, though Felix supposed that he could have just felt stuffy and bloated from bruising. All at once he felt a warming, solid rock on his chest and stomach. But it was weightless… His arms were wrenched up above his head, and if he moved them forwards he could feel them touch the same rock. So he was on the floor then? Except that he couldn’t be, because his arms _ached_ and _tingled_ with lack of blood, and his knees grazed hay covered stone. As a wave of dizziness overcame him, he almost felt himself standing, crouching, kneeling, turning, until everything came into focus and he was kneeling on the floor with his arms bound above his head – the rope tied to the ceiling, his body pressed against the wall. He wrenched his eyes open and blinked rapidly as if trying to flush the darkness out. With a gasp, he finally came to, his blinks sharpening the greyscale image before him. He turned to his right: a grey wall with a tiny, glowing slit in it – some window for oxygen – and another hay coated floor.

“Sorry about this.” Gilbert said, from somewhere behind him. “I assumed you wouldn’t take kindly to being asked to sit patiently and be restrained.”

Most likely because he _didn’t._ He tried to wrench himself away from the wall, attempting to pull his arms towards him and tear through the rope, only to pull the rest of his body up. _Damn, this isn’t giving way._ Regardless, he moved as far as he was capable and stood up shakily, using his arm strength over his legs, which felt like lead. Nobody seemed to make a move to stop him as he aligned his feet with the ground and lowered himself onto them slowly. The moment his weight fell onto his legs, it became clear why. An animalistic screech ripped through his throat as he instinctively clenched his arms and tucked in his legs, causing him to lock into a close-to-foetal position in the air, swaying gently. He muttered through his whines of stress and pain and then tried to stand once more only for the process to repeat.

 _They’ve broken my legs._ He cursed whilst still swinging on the rope, too afraid to loosen up and touch the ground again. _I can’t stand, and I can’t get down, and I can’t get out._ His breathing hitched and then quickened. _I can’t escape. I **knew** this was a trap and I can’t-_

“Should we help him back down to the floor sir?” Asked a young man’s voice, clearly less than impressed by Felix’ display.

“No no.” Gilbert replied, and though Felix could see nothing but the wall his knees scraped on as they rocked left and right, he could already imagine the little flick of the wrist accompanying the words. “In this interrogation we intend to punish him for his crimes against his majesty. Treason is not to be rewarded in any way. I do not care if he is questioned in discomfort-”

The voice of a clearly more sympathetic young woman cut through. “But!-”

“-ESPECIALLY since he brought it upon _himself_.” Gilbert finished loudly. Like a father speaking over a child who refuses to listen to reason.

She mumbled something, and fell back in line.

Felix gathered a breath and stretched his legs out slightly, reeling them back in quickly, still deciding whether or not to try and sit once more. As he tucked his legs in, best he could, and began his descent to the floor, a sharp pain sliced across his back and tore through flesh.

“GAARGH!” He roared, and sucked a harsh breath in through his gritted teeth, immediately curling up in the air again, the strain on his arms all forgotten.

There was blood dripping down his back; that much he was sure of. He kept reminding himself that, as a soldier, he’d endured much, much worse and that this ought to feel like nothing at all. The sad reality was that, whilst he technically was correct, the war was over; he’d gotten complacent. The gash on his back no longer felt like the routine deep cuts from battle, it felt new again, it buzzed and ached unrestrained. With nothing else to focus on, he was left wallowing in his agony, listening to his own treacherous whimpers and the pitter patter of droplets hitting the floor. That was, until Gilbert spoke up.

“What exactly did you do to his majesty, Felix?” It was measured, and low, like he already knew the answer. Felix said as much.

“You already know I did noth- _AAAAAAAAAAAGH_!!”

This time around, Felix noted the crack of a whip as pain shocked his back like lightning. He’d been wondering if Gilbert was getting someone to thoron his back, but apparently not. The old man was heavy-handed, and deadly with an axe; it only made sense that he would be destructive with a whip as well.

“Wha-at do you wa-ant me-e to say?” Felix trembled, riding out the aftershocks of the attack whilst he swam in his own sweat. He briefly thought back to his plan to let himself down to the floor but tensed again as another hit forced spasms across his back. He howled gracelessly. No one was going to hear him anyway.

There was a pause. “Tell us the truth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Tell us about the dark magic you performed.”

There was a beat of silence where Felix tried to consider what made up propaganda Gilbert was expecting him to spout. What imaginary crime he could have committed which would benefit the older man. He could think of nothing.

“Us?” He asked weakly instead, expecting to be rewarded with another assault from the whip. He tensed, but none came.

There was yet another pause, and he felt himself start to heat up as if he was being cooked, the suspense and exertion dripping out of him, the fear eating away at him.

Then came some muttering from behind him, and it became clear that Felix had at least a _little_ time to himself before the questioning continued. Felix took the opportunity to gently lower himself back onto his knees, wincing and squeaking through clenched teeth as they touched the ground. He gasped soundlessly and hissed and he relaxed his arms and felt the full weight of his body sink onto his broken legs.

“-are employed by the church,” he heard a nasal voice say, the beginning of his sentence lost to Felix in his agony, “it is my duty to ensure that all prisoners’ testimonies are properly recorded. Unbiased.” He tapped some sort of writing utensil onto a wooden surface. “The archbishop puts a great deal of trust in me to not twist words. All questions and answers will be recorded by me as they are spoken.”

 _Hah._ So that explained one of the voices at his back. An – allegedly – unbiased scribe, _did Gilbert not actually have the upper hand?_

Felix breathed deeply, and then licked his dry lips. “Can I be proven innocent then?”

“Theoretically.” Came the unknown man’s snide reply.

Somebody stepped forward. _Gilbert_.

“In your current position it would be impossible,” he said assuredly, “for I have the king’s journal, and within it, your involvement with the dark arts has already been underlined and highlighted.”

“But proven?” Felix let out a cough and a splutter as the whip sliced more skin on his back unexpectedly. He’d been safe for only a few minutes – by his measurements – and he had apparently already gotten too used to free questions.

“The fact that the prince claims to harbour feelings for you – feelings so great, might I add, that he has recently collapsed from them – despite your cruel treatment of him these past seven years only proves some sick magic at play.” Felix could hear him grind his teeth, and the sound of it made him want to grind his head into the wall. “Perhaps you hoped to gain more land for Fraldarius through his affections, perhaps you planned to infatuate him to deeply that he should die – perhaps fainting is an early symptom-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Felix spat, but was ignored.

“The duke knew all too well what you were doing; king Lambert informed him both of your deeds and punishment. You were ordered to be executed for your crimes against the entire kingdom upon his majesty’s return from Duscur-” Gilbert stopped suddenly. He hummed to himself.

“ _Actually_ …” He considered slyly. “I would say that it is no stretch to assume you had a hand in that too.” The smile was audible in his voice. “Did you not?”

_How dare he-_

Felix’s fists clenched where they were tied to each other.

“ _What would I get out of it???!!_ ” Felix snapped. “ _My brother **died** in that tragedy!!!” _He blinked away the water in his eyes. _“You bastard!!!”_

Another crack of the whip sounded out, followed by an aborted scream from Felix, and the scratch of a quill.

“You think me ignorant, Fraldarius?” Gilbert sneered, coming closer and dropping his voice venomously. “You were spared because the king had ordered your execution on the condition that – like Miklan – you were neither relevant nor necessary to your lands.” Felix gagged as he put the pieces together, but Gilbert pressed on. “The moment that your brother died… you became an heir: _indispensable_.”

There was another pause as the scribe caught up.

“Your father did not choose to pass judgement on you then, despite the king’s wishes, because of that loophole in their agreement. But seeing as your magic has not abated, I find it necessary to do so now.”

_Is this all true? Was my father happy to…?_

He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs.

_I would be dead if not for my brother’s-_

Lightning tore at his spine again and he cursed loudly, his throat hoarse.

“Fraldarius.” Someone said persistently.

Garbled noises bubbled in his throat as saliva fell freely over his lower lip. He tried to focus on the clear drops as they landed on his thighs, but ultimately failed as his vision whited temporarily upon the next whip. He threw his head back in an attempt to counter the force and yelled wordlessly.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius.” The voice rang out again.

 _“I don’t know anything…”_ He wailed as his head flopped back down with obvious effort. “ _I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I dunno, I du-nno, I du no, idono, idono-”_

He felt sick.

He barely avoided chocking on his own spit and nausea as he was hit again.

“ _GLEEEEENN!!!!!”_ He shouted, voice scratchy from overuse and raw emotion. He began to scream pitifully like a child unable to communicate, like he was a kid stuck in the closet again, panicking and howling for his big brother to help him out. “ _GLEEEEEENN!!!!”_

“You killed your brother!”

“ _I DIDN’T!!!”_

“What proof do you have that you didn’t kill your brother when your motives are right-”

“ _NOOO!!!”_ His roar was followed by a hiccup. “ _No!!”_

Each time he breathed he felt his voice fading, getting smaller and smaller, running away from him, the pain in his throat the only sign that he was still using it.

_Nononononononononononononononononononononononono_

_Glenn I didn’t kill you, I didn’t, I didn’t. I don’t know any magic, I don’t know, leave me alone, I want Glenn, Glenn, help me I’m scared, please Glenn, help me, Glenn, help-_

_Glenn…_

_Glenn I…_

_…_

_Everything hurts Glenn…_

_…_

_I can’t hear you…_

_…_

_…_

_I’m cold…_

-

He felt like he was floating, or lying at the bottom of a lake; there was no sound around him. No sound besides the shuffling of… cards?

Dimitri startled awake at the sound.

“Oh hey! Glad you’re back!” Claude smiled from his chair at the windowsill.

They were in the infirmary, Dimitri noted, along with Hilda who had also pulled her seat up to the window, and was arranging cards on the small space available to her. His bed was the one closest to them, but it was still a few metres away. Claude closed the distance first, standing and pulling his chair close to the front of the bed, Hilda packing up the cards to follow suit.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked politely.

“I’m… uh… fine…?”

“You sure?” Hilda cut in sharply, her voice squeaking in disbelief, “You didn’t seem all that good during the meeting.”

“Yeah, that was…” Claude laughed nervously. “That was something…”

Dimitri felt fire rise up his entire body, and he was sure that his face was glowing red like metal in a furnace.

“H-hey look,” Claude waved his hand in front of Dimitri, encouraging eye contact, “At least those feelings are out now.”

Hilda bounced in her seat and nodded encouragingly, “All dealt with!” She said brushing her hands together twice in an ‘ _all done’_ gesture.

Dimitri wanted to agree but… “Felix must absolutely hate me now.”

Claude and Hilda looked at each other slightly unsure.

“Well he didn’t look,,, panicked,,, or anything-” Hilda debated.

“-Yeah I’m sure he’s considering you right now!!”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “Considering how to kill me…”

“No!” Claude said, quickly.

 _“_ Noooo! _”_ Hilda booed in agreement.

“No I’m sure he’s-”

“Flattered!-”

“Yeah-”

“ _I_ would be-”

“Me too-”

“Claude-” Dimitri started.

“Seriously, how could he turn you-”

“Hilda…” She shut her mouth quickly as his sombre eye looked straight into hers through his hair. _(My hair’s…. fringe?? Shorter lock of hair?? Matted hair-tail over the eye?? I haven’t cut my hair properly in years. I should really sort it out before I face Felix again.)_

_Felix… **Can** I even face him?_

He took a deep breath and closed his eye. _I might as well let it all out._

“I’ve done… a great deal… of bad things…” He began slowly.

Hilda opened her mouth to refute the claim, but Claude lifted a hand up quickly and fixed her with a look which made her swallow her words sympathetically. Dimitri was grateful.

“Felix… has _always_ seen me at my worst… For so many years I delighted _solely_ in making him happy… In being the prince he expected… and wanted to see… It didn’t feel like a burden then… It was… a special privilege… that only I had… To be able to impress him with whatever princely charm he saw in me…”

He hung his head. “And then I let him down… Repeatedly… I… I made him afraid… All I wanted was to see him smile and because of me…” He clenched his fists shakily, as if doing so would hold back the wave of tears threatening to fall. “But because of _me_ … he never smiled again!!”

He heaved a breath and brought his knees to his face. “Never!”

He curled up on himself, unable to look at his friends, to see the shame and sympathy on their faces. He knew the looks they would give him; he could almost imagine their downturned lips in the painful sigh that Claude released.

“You’ve never seen Felix really let go and just…!!! _Laugh_!!!” The tears fell. “He doesn’t-,,, you haven’t seen him,,,, _light up!!_ like he used to!!” He watched the droplets sink into the sheets on his knees, the soft sound of them landing mostly drowned out by his ragged breaths.

“And it’s _all **my** fault!!!_”

He sniffed violently and bunched his hands in the sheets. Apologising softly, repeatedly, for his outburst.

“Hey hey-”

“Hey now-”

Claude and Hilda assured, reaching out to him. One of their hands stroked through his messy hair, and another gripped his shoulder, a third attempted to open up his clenched hand, and a final one caressed his knees.

He closed his eye and rest his head on one of their – Claude he assumed, based on the pillow-like fabric – shoulders.

“That’s alright.” Claude soothed, bringing his hand away from Dimitri’s fist to join the other on his head. Dimitri was only slightly _very_ ashamed to admit that he was so touch-starved that Claude’s effort only made him cry more.

“Are you-…” Dimitri breathed, “Do you think… Felix is okay?”

The door opened suddenly, with such force that the resulting _BANG_ made the king flinch.

“I don’t think Felix is gonna be okay on his own!” Annette huffed, out of breath.

Hilda gaped at her as she ran to Dimitri’s bedside. “Woah there, Annette The Sket! What are you talking about? He was just a little shocked-”

“Hilda!” She growled. “I’m not a sket!” She then added in a mumble, “Dorothea told me what that means-”

“-Aw that’s a shame! It rhymes-”

“-And anyway I’m not worried about Felix emotionally, he likes-,,,,,” she threw a panicked glance over at Dimitri, and then seemed to reorganise her thoughts, “My point is! I’m worried about him,,,!! Uhh… I’m worried about where my father is taking him!!”

“Gustave is taking Felix somewhere…?” Dimitri asked in confusion, puzzling why he would possibly – _wait._

Claude hummed and brought a hand to his chin, “That certainly is wei-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt!” Dimitri rushed politely, straightening up and untangling himself from his covers whilst continuing equally (false) calmly, “But I think Felix might be in mortal danger-”

“Mortal?” Claude and Annette gasped at the same time.

“No time to worry about details!” Hilda grouched petulantly.

“She’s right.” Dimitri agreed. “We need to find him as soon as possible!”

He turned to Annette to ask her for more information when she beat him to it.

“I didn’t see where they went; my father obviously saw me trying to spy on them and took a strange route around the monastery. I lost them completely!”

Claude pondered over this point. “If he was trying to lose you then he probably wouldn’t want anyone else finding him either. He probably left the monastery. But we don’t know that for certain.”

He furrowed his brows.

“Look,” Hilda cut through calmly, “We can just ask the gatekeeper. He has a front row view of the only exit in the _whole_ monastery. If Gilbert walked out with Felix in broad daylight, he’d be the _first_ know.”

“And possibly the only.” Claude agreed.

“Then it’s settled.” Dimitri said firmly.

He clawed his boots on with urgency and fumbled around for Areadbhar. It was still in his room.

“I need my relic.”

As he leapt out of the infirmary he heard one of them refute his claim, but it was too late. He practically jumped the length of the corridor like a lion, pounced down the stairs, and then tore his way down the cobbled path to the dorms like the boar Felix said he was.

_Go and win. Be the boar that you are, and don’t you dare look back._

He hoped he was wrong about this. He hoped that Gilbert had entirely forgotten about his father’s order to execute Felix.

He stormed into his room, grabbed what he needed and ran back to reception hall at breakneck speed.

 _I’m coming Felix!_ He thought. _I’m going to save you! I’m going to-_

“OH!” Claude yelled, flinching, as Dimitri came right at him and Annette – who _shrieked_.

He swerved into a bush and toppled over, grunting as branches gave him shallow cuts. He sighed heavily and picked himself back up awkwardly.

“I-” He breathed heavily, all his running catching up to him. “I am sorry Claude.” _sigh_ “I was” _huff_ “not expecting you all to” _huff_ “meet me halfway!” _huff- cough._

Claude waved his arms in a placating manner.

Annette blushed shyly, “I wasn’t expecting you to round the corner like a horse, ahaha… Sorry!”

At that moment Hilda emerged from the entrance. “You guys should’ve just _jumped away_ like _I_ did.”

Claude pouted at her. “Like you did without _telling us_. Knowing how lazy _you_ are you would have had to spot him from a mile away to bother moving in time.”

“Absolutely!” She smiled.

“This is all well and good,” Annette giggled nervously, “But Felix-”

“Of course!” Dimitri straightened up, picking a few twigs from his hair.

“Tooooo the gatekeepeeeer!” Hilda cheered, running back into the reception hall and jogging down the aisle.

“No need to sound so excited Hilda…” Claude chased after her, followed closely by Dimitri and Annette.

“Oh come _on_ Claude, you’re always so serious.” She joked, spinning around to face him as she did so.

“But this _is_ serious!” Annette chimed in, alert.

“ _Alright_! That’s fair.” She admitted, skipping along until Dimitri and the others had caught up, at which point she broke into a run again.

“We’ll find you Felix.” Dimitri gritted out under his breath.

-

“But why would the king lie, Felix?” Gilbert asked, his voice a quiet hum from behind Felix.

“Because-” He choked out, letting another tear trail down his snotty face. He was abruptly silent for a moment, aside from his hiccupping breaths, before he let out a frustrated, “I _don’t know…!_ ”

An unrestrained shout rang out and echoed as he was swiftly hit again.

He could feel sweat all over his back. As well as at least _some_ blood. He knew that because, occasionally, a splatter of blood would fly far enough to either side of him that even _he_ could see it as it flew. He wasn’t sure if Gilbert was whipping the same place consistently, or if he had just had so much time to saw through Felix’s back that no skin was left untorn or unblistered. Either way, he could feel his nerves on fire. With every strike, it was like another thunder was shot at him, and with every reprieve he could feel more of himself decaying. He couldn’t feel his arms, but he tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about how his fingers might be blue, and he took extra care not to look, even when he threw his head back in pain. He tried not to writhe around as he grit his teeth and tried to answer Gilbert’s questions; shifting his weight hurt his legs. He’d been sitting in the same position for quite a while, now that he considered it.

His toes were probably blue too. Not that he could check.

“Felix, I said-” Gilbert started, straightening the whip with a crack.

_Did he ask me something??_

He shot upwards where he’d been previously slouching, and let out a cry as the movement affected him.

“ _I didn’t hear!!_ ” He sobbed pathetically. “ _I’m listening, I’m listening but I didn’t hear!!”_

Gilbert grumbled something, reeling the whip back audibly to strike, when the scribe said something or another which made him drop his arm and repeat the phrase politely.

“Do you admit that the king could not have had ulterior motives?”

“ _Yes-”_ He hiccupped, some slivers of spit connecting his lips vibrating like harp strings with each breath.

Gilbert was smiling clearly when he asked, “And that means that he is not lying, correct?”

“ _No!!- I-,, I didn’t do it!!”_

“If the king has no reason to lie, then he would not lie. Would he Felix?”

“ _I didn’t…!!”_ He sobbed, defeated, slouching.

He wished he could curl up into a ball, his back against the cold wall. The cobbled grey bricks cooling his spine’s frayed nerves and shielding it from further harm.

But there didn’t seem like any escape from this. No end in sight.

“ _What’s gonna happen to me?”_

There was silence for a moment until the scribe collected his papers.

“Since you are adamant that you worked with no one, and that you have no information of use on the tragedy of Duscur, there is no need for further questioning. Your levels of coherency have dropped dramatically already, there is nothing more to be gained from speaking with you.” The scribe finished rummaging around and harshly stabbed a stamp into ink, grinding it. “Formally admit to the crimes listed in this document: intoxicating the prince with magic, turning him against his country, brainwashing various people including your own father, involving yourself in the tragedy, and withholding information in your trial; then you will be left at peace until you are executed.”

Felix considered it, considered death, how much pain he was in, how much he might regret it all. He never cared much about fame, or how he might go down in history, but being falsely accused and demonised for centuries to come left a bad taste in his mouth regardless.

Well, he wasn’t going to be alive to complain.

 _What have I ever lived for anyway?_ He thought to himself, his conversations with the professor coming to mind, his determination to keep his allies safe.

 _The war’s over, there’s no need for me anymore._ And yet Flayn sprung to mind, the way she tossed fruit at him excitedly and then promised to help him find a future worth living. To find him a purpose. He’d been so excited at heart.

_I guess I’ll never get to know the life I could’ve lived… Just like Glenn._

_Glenn…_

_Wait for me…_

“I admit to those crimes.”

The scribe hastily came to his side to have him sign the sheets, but upon untying his arms, he found that they were, indeed, blue and useless. He couldn’t muster the strength to even move them; he let out a whimper to communicate this point.

“Let’s just wait for the blood flow then.” The scribe said amicably, as if he wasn’t literally getting Felix to sign his life away.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “King Lambert requested that he be burnt at the stake.”

“That can be arranged for.” The scribe smiled.

“ _Heh_...” Felix sniffed, blinking slowly, breathing through the memories of a boy once lost and _so very nearly_ retrieved.

_Glenn…_

_I’m coming…_

-

“Hey there, your majesty! Nothing to report!” The gatekeeper beamed. He always did seem so excited to speak with people; he may not have been the most intimidating gatekeeper, but Dimitri found himself wishing the man would come and stand watch over Fhirdiad all the same.

“I have a question, if you don’t mind?” He asked politely.

Perhaps a more shrewd man might have gotten an idea that he was in trouble, judging by Dimitri’s intense tone. But the gatekeeper was entirely unfazed and replied, “Of course! Go for it!” bringing a fist towards his chest in delight.

“I was wondering if you have anything to report on Gusta- uh… Gilbert? He left a while ago with Felix.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that, he went out of the main gates and then turned left. I actually saw a group of dungeon guards follow after them, they were jogging so I guess they were trying to beat them there. Oh!” He straightened up. “I forgot to say! I know they were going the same place as Sir Gilbert because one of them was talking about orders to capture a man for questioning, saying that Sir Gilbert was bringing him into the West Tower for them.” He brought a hand to his lips, furrowing his brow. “Strange though… He didn’t have a prisoner when I saw him, just the new Duke Fraldarius. Oh, that’s Felix right?” He asked, as proud as a child who remembered his parent’s first names.

“Yes, it is…” Dimitri mumbled, processing the fact that _dungeon guards were following poor-_

“Thank you sooo much, you’re a sweetheart.” Hilda gushed, making the gatekeeper blush.

Claude nudged him, breaking him out of his thoughts, “We’re gonna get him.”

Annette nodded fiercely from over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you gatekeeper, you have been of great help.”

He ducked his head, “Aw no, i-it’s nothing! You’re much too kind!”

“Thanks again!” Annette said, stepping forwards to grab Claude and Dimitri. She made eye contact with Hilda and flicked her head, “We’re just looking for him is all. We’ll be on our way now!”

“Good luck!” He called as they broke out into a run towards the exit.

They reached the treeline around the monastery gates.

“A dead end?” Annette groaned.

Dimitri scoured the landscape with his one eye, already feeling sick. He opened his mouth to say as much when someone else spoke first.

“Not necessarily,” Claude intercepted, analysing the treeline, “There’s a lot of fog over the tips of the trees. The gatekeeper said the tower the dungeon guards went to is called the ‘West Tower’, so it’s gotta be in this direction somewhere...” He considered his claim. “Let’s go in and just keep going forwards. We’ll either find it or come out the other side.”

“And if we come out the other side?” Hilda asked grumpily, most likely not enjoying the idea of wasted effort. Claude dubbed her lazy, but Dimitri did appreciate her… efficiency.

“Then we’ll see if we get a better view from over there, or see if there’s someone we can ask or, yanno what, let’s just see. There’s nothing we’ll achieve standing here anyway.”

“Agreed.” Annette affirmed quickly.

“We should split up.” Dimitri offered but Hilda squealed at him.

“Are you crazy?? It’s _full_ of fog.” She gestured in front of them. “If we split up there’s no way for us to find each other to tell everyone else that we found the tower!”

“Isn’t just one of us enough?” He asked guiltily.

“Well _yeah_ , if it’s _you_!” She grumbled.

“Can we start walking?” Annette was visibly worried, picking at the skin around her thumb nails.

Claude and Dimitri nodded and the group moved briskly into the forest as Hilda kept complaining.

“If _I_ were to find the tower, I’d be killed by all the guards! If we’re worried about _Felix_ then how do you expect a delicate flower like _me_ to be safe??”

_You’re not much of a delicate flower, Hilda, I saw you at Gronder._

“Of course, how unkind of me to not consider it.” He said aloud, earning him a long suffering sigh from Claude.

It was hard to tell how much time was passing as they walked, Dimitri kept trying to go forwards only for Claude to pull him over to the right.

“You were veering left again.” He’d say.

It was hard to tell with the fog, but he supposed that his impaired vision made it even harder for him to not end up going in a circle.

“Aren’t you _so_ glad I didn’t let you go _all_ on your _own_?” Hilda patronised after the sixth time it happened.

“Hilda-” Annette moaned like a young child disputing their parent’s chastisement, despite not even being the person Hilda was talking to.

It made Dimitri laugh, and Annette looked over at him curiously, her eyes vaguely flicking over to Claude who was a step ahead of them and on the lookout for towers.

“What’s so funny?” The girls asked together, leading Annette to glare at Hilda for daring to have similar ideas to her.

It made Dimitri laugh more.

“Oh no nothing! I just thought…” He smiled wistfully. “I just felt like I was reliving a scene from my childhood.”

Hilda was carefree like Sylvain.

Annette was acting grouchy like Ingrid.

Dimitri was… himself.

And whilst Claude wasn’t exactly reminiscent of Felix, he _was_ a small man leading the charge.

“Oh!” Said small man suddenly gasped, and pointed to their right.

Dimitri looked over, but it was on his blind side. He stopped completely and turned around, but still found himself at a loss.

_Damn these-,, uh-,, **this** confounded eye-_

“I. don’t. see. anything.” Hilda grouched.

_Oh… So it’s not me then._

“No it’s not you.” Annette confirmed. ( _Damn, did I mumble that?_ ) “I can’t see it either.”

Claude squinted at the distance. “Yeah, it’s gone out of sight now, but I saw a red roof. It wasn’t very high up, but it wasn’t low down enough to just be the roof of a house either. Best to go up I think.”

He turned in the direction he allegedly saw the roof and trudged forwards. Annette and Dimitri followed without question, Hilda following soon after reluctantly.

“You’d _better_ not be dragging us around on a field trip Claude.”

“I’m not.” He brushed her off with a wave of his hand, without even turning to face her.

They’d been walking for a while when Dimitri caught a glimpse of this mysterious red roof. He alerted the others to it with a wordless yell and a quickly raised finger.

“OoooO” Hilda hummed.

Annette said nothing, but he could see her eyes collecting moisture at the sight. She grit her teeth and bared them at the tower. Claude changed the angle of their path slightly to match the exact direction Dimitri had pointed in, but otherwise just continued walking as if nothing had changed.

The closer they got, the more it appeared through the fog, until it didn’t seem to disappear from sight at all.

It wasn’t awfully remarkable in its shape, but it was startlingly red; so red in fact, that it seemed painted. Though Dimitri wasn’t actually sure if painting tiles was something generally practiced in construction. Not that he would know much about it, he supposed.

Finally, they emerged from the woods and found themselves at a small clearing, within which the entrance of the tower stood.

Annette sighed loudly next to him, and when he looked over, he could see her shaking terribly.

“Do you need a moment?”

“No!” She said quickly. “I’m just worried about what we’ll see is all… But the longer we wait the worse it’s gonna be!”

“You could just stay behind and let the big strong men do the work. I know I will-”

“-Oh what’s that Hilda?” Claude interrupted loudly, pretending to clean out an ear, “You want to go first? Great!”

“No-!”

“-Let his majesty break down the door first though.” He added gesturing at Dimitri and Annette to follow him up to the main doors.

“No I said-” Hilda rebutted, stomping her foot; she then plodded along unwillingly when she realised that no one was listening to her excuses. “Hmph!”

Annette made it to the doors first and then moved to the side to allow Dimitri in front, eyeing him resolutely.

She nodded at him. “Break it down.”

“What?” He startled, eye wide, “Can’t we knock?”

“And let them know we’re here?” Hilda scowled, boggled.

“Well I should think they’d find out anyway if we destroyed their entrance.” Dimitri argued.

Claude sighed, “Look buddy, I agree with you that they’ll know either way but I still think we’re better breaking in since we can’t just wait for them to-”

Tatters of a faint moan fell over their heads like a dispersing cloud from the top of the tower.

“ _I can’t!………………yet!……………………-y arms!”_

“FELIX!!!” Dimitri roared, heedless of potential guards.

In immediate response to this, they heard the scurrying of feet towards the entrance and Hilda screeched from the back of the group as the doors shook.

“Welp.” Claude averred, gently face-palming, “They all know we’re here now.”

As the double doors began to open, and a sliver of armour could be seen through the tiny gap between them, Hilda screamed shrilly: “EW! _GO AWAY GO AWAY GO AWAY!_ ” as if she were Leonie and hundreds of spiders had emerged from the doors. She shot forwards, got right in front of Dimitri, and before the doors could be heaved open much wider, she grabbed a handle on each door and closed them fully, before rearing a leg up and kicking both of the doors where they met, causing them to both collapse onto, and flatten, the oncoming soldiers behind it.

Just for good measure, she tossed the dis-attached door handles – which she still held in either hand – at the last remaining guard before trampling over the fallen wood daintily, as if it were a bridge over a lake of groaning human bodies.

She turned to the others, who were completely still.

“What?” She intoned, fallaciously tucking her arms in and tearing up, “I saw _all_ those _big scary men_ and I just got _so scared_. Thank goodness you protected us all Dimitri.”

“But I did no-”

She dropped the act, frowning, “Come now who else could have-”

One of the less concussed guards slid out from under the heavy door to her right, and staggered halfway to his feet.

“EEEEEEEK!”

She punched him so violently that he hit the wall near the – now forever open – entryway with a crunch. He didn’t get back up.

Her gaze travelled from the compromised guard to the trio to his left, who all stared at her, deadpan.

“What?? He _scared_ me. Adrenaline makes _everyone_ a _little_ powerful-! I mean,, I’m _still_ a _delicate flower_ you know!”

“Hilda…” Dimitri began only to be cut off by Annette.

“Wait, we don’t have time for this!”

“You’re right! Felix!” Claude affirmed, tapping Dimitri on the shoulder.

The reminder was all it took to snap him out of his dry confusion. He hurled himself over the doors like a sports festival long jumper, and shot up the winding staircase before him, as fast as his crest-powered legs could take him.

There were multiple doors littered on different levels of the tower, but he ignored them without a second glance, for with each step he took, the huffing and wailing above him got louder.

_I’m coming Felix. I’m coming!_

As he got closer to what must be the top – since he could see the staircase’s abrupt end in front of a chestnut, bolted door – the two men guarding it spotted him and cursed.

“Shit! I thought it was too quiet down there!”

But they didn’t get to say anything else, Dimitri grabbed them and – remembering Felix’s horror the last time he gravely injured a target – flung them over his head rather gently – by Dimitri’s standards – like ragdolls. He turned to face them as they landed uncomfortably, bottoms slapping the stone stairs they’d fallen on, their backs hitting the walls and they leant back in pain.

“Don’t get back up. I do not wish to fight you. I only wish to talk to Gust-” he scoffed, “ _Gilbert._ ” He warned, smiling widely.

One of them, possibly the one that spoke previously, eyed him shakily, glancing down as more footsteps sounded from below him.

“We got ‘em!” Claude yelled from below, rather presumptuously considering that Dimitri couldn’t even see him yet.

Still, the men shivered in place, crumpled on the stairs, and one of them gave him a thumbs up which he probably meant as a surrender.

As Claude and co scampered up the stairs to apprehend the men, Dimitri turned his attention to the door they’d been stationed before.

He strode up to it – confident in his rage.

He took a deep breath.

_BANG_

“What’s happening?!” A nasal voice cried out as the door was thrown clean off its hinges.

A few men had been standing in line with the doorway and immediately choked from pure shock and darted to the left, out of view. Behind where they’d stood was a dark, wooden table, upon which paper, ink pots, and a quill had been organised neatly. A single sheet of paper from the top of the pile curled over itself and flew off the desk in the rush of air created by the frightened men’s escape.

Dimitri marched forwards, intoxicated by anger, to retrieve it. To know where they’d put Felix-

Gilbert stepped out, from somewhere to his left, at the same time, stooping fast to scoop the sheet off the floor, right underneath Dimitri’s own hand.

They made eye contact as they straightened up.

“Gustave.”

“Your majesty.”

He narrowed his eye at the older man.

“Where’s Felix?”

“Taken care of.”

“ _WHERE???!!”_ He roared, stepping right into Gilbert’s personal space.

Somebody squeaked softly in the direction Gilbert had come from. Behind the old knight, five men huddled in a semi-circle around _something_. Each of them shied away from Dimitri’s glare as if to say: ‘ _this is only my job’._

He was about to write the noise off as one of the men’s when he noted, suddenly, dark splats of drying blood, peeking out from between their feet. As he spun around to face the group he realised that blood dotted the walls too, faintly. On closer inspection, he noticed that the room was most saturated with blood on the wall behind the men’s formation, where it seemed to have collected, blotches of blood mingling until there was just a streak of dark red on the wall. Like a corpse had slid down it.

“Where’s Felix?” He trembled in anger.

“Not here.” Gilbert said, far too fast.

Dimitri surged forwards towards the men, who in turn cowed in fear, some of them fleeing to the sides at the first sign of movement from him. The rest dispersing as he reached an arm out, threatening to move them himself if they would not.

“Your majesty-”

“SILENCE.”

He blinked angrily, _tearfully_ , and took stock of what they’d been hiding.

The men had been standing, approximately, in the middle of the room (lengthways). It appeared that the room extended to the left of the entry for quite a while, as, evidently, the door had been located far, far closer to the right wall. Right in front of the bloody, left wall (the one he was currently facing) he could see a man in a stained, cream coat and tailored black trousers hushing another pale figure, of whom he could see only their naked legs.

He stepped closer to the man.

“Where’s Felix?” He said softly, dangerously.

The man carried on muttering and calmly reached for a sheet of paper and a quill.

“Come on now, try signing again, I’m sure the blood must have returned to your arms by now.” He stated, so kindly that it bordered on patronising.

Whoever he was talking to keened like a wounded dog.

“Come now, you were so cooperative before.” He chastised.

And then Dimitri heard it, it was almost imperceptible, but he heard it.

 _“Dima…_ ”

“MOVE.” He hissed at the man.

Before the strange man could reply, Gilbert spoke up from behind him, walking forwards warily.

“Your majesty, he has admitted to his crimes and has agreed to formally sign-”

Before Gilbert could get close enough to stop him, Dimitri shot forwards and almost tore a hole in the cream-coat man’s head snatching his document.

Before he could read it Gilbert ran at him to rip it from his grasp, but he slapped a hand over the old man’s face and pushed him back. He watched in delight as he was launched a fair distance before skidding, tripping, and hitting the desk. They maintained eye contact for a few seconds as Dimitri ensured that he hadn’t killed him.

Gilbert blinked and bore his teeth at him furiously. He was fine, just shaken up.

He turned his eye back to the stolen paper.

> ‘This document hereby declares that the prisoner admits to:
> 
>   * Intoxicating the crown prince with dark magic
>   * Turning the crown prince against his country
>   * The brainwashing of various people including Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
>   * Involvement in the tragedy of Duscur
>   * The withholding of information in trial
> 

> 
> Signed (scribe): _Matthew Willows____________
> 
> Signed (prisoner): ________________________’

“Kh,” Dimitri spat, in the same way a wildcat might, “Bullshit.”

He looked down at the very pale _Matthew Willows_ , who’d opened his mouth to offer some kind of argument.

“MOVE.” Dimitri commanded.

He did.

Dimitri watched the man scuttle over to Gilbert like a cockroach, sweat dripping down his face in rivulets, if only so that he could put off the sight of Felix for a second longer.

He cursed and screwed his eye shut, turning his head in the direction of his old friend.

“ _Help…_ ”

A tear slid down his left cheek, and he opened his eye.

Before him, Felix sat, wearing only his briefs, with his back against the cobbled wall. His legs were stretched out in front of him, thoroughly bruised and blue at the knees, his calves lumpy, purple and misshapen. His feet were pale, as was the unmarred skin elsewhere on his body, as if he were devoid of blood. His stomach convulsed with each breath, either out of internal injury or anxiety. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dimitri knew that all humans were bone, fat, and muscle, but the layers seemed almost separated on Felix. All four limbs fat and swollen in various places, making his torso seem tiny by comparison. His muscles twitched with every minute movement, his arms shivering with spasms, his chest quaking; it was as if his muscles were slithering around his body, moving like slugs along his bones. His wrist bones had always been pronounced, but now they were stark white stones before a river of deep blue, where they must have tied his wrists far too tight, judging by the lavender hands he cupped together over his abdomen.

His breath hitched and Dimitri turned to look at his neck, sweaty, straining. He realised with disgust that the blood on the wall was from Felix’s back; it had been smeared all over the back of his neck and head.

 _So he was not always sitting down._ Dimitri confirmed. _They sat him down, dragging him against the wall._

He didn’t want to see what Felix’s back looked like, but at the same time, he had to _know_. He crouched to Felix’s eye level, trying to make eye contact with him. There were tear tracks and saliva dripping down Felix’s face, mingling with fresh sweat. His head was tipped back, resting on the wall, and he didn’t move it to acknowledge the king’s presence. Only his eyes betrayed that he’d noticed his arrival.

“Let’s get you up, Felix.” Dimitri tutted softly, reaching an arm out, but Felix turned his hips – possibly the only body part he could move – away quickly, making gargled noises.

“Nrrnno…!” He bawled, tears sliding over his cheeks as easily as they did as children, “H-huurrrghtss…!”

Dimitri moved his hand closer to gently rest it on Felix’s right hipbone, causing him to start squealing until Dimitri proved that his only intention was to gently usher it back down. He eyed the small man sympathetically.

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaaa-iii nghh-nnoo…” He hiccupped. “Dounnnnnn… c-ryy-yyeee…”

Taken aback, Dimitri gently brushed his own face, his hands coming away wet. He huffed air out of his nose and hung his head, he longed to hold Felix’s hand, but he’d probably hurt it.

As if reading his mind, Felix wailed, and Dimitri saw his hands lift. He turned to face them only to find them encased in smaller, glowing hands. They recovered slowly, un-swelling and un-purpling gradually in unison. Annette’s healing magic reached down over his wrists, before she cut it off.

“The legs look broken.” Annette said matter-of-factly, her voice betraying no personal attachment to Felix, but her face depicting an array of pained expressions.

Her attempt to stay clinical appreciated by Felix though, who gently wailed, “Cannn yuuu… fff-ii-iisss… maa-iii nec-ck…?”

She quickly wrapped a hand under his jawline, digging her fingers into his tonsils carefully, and pouring out more magic with her eyes shut in concentration.

A hand appeared in front of Dimitri holding a waterskin, startling him.

“See if he needs some water, I brought extra.” Hilda drawled. “Man! Tying up those guys at the back was such hard _work_!”

Claude scoffed amusedly from somewhere behind her.

“Are you ok to bring him back to Garreg Mach whilst we bring-”

“No!” Annette interrupted, “Felix is in bad shape, his legs are broken, and I’m not qualified to do more with my magic and first aid than disinfect and close wounds. We’ll need Manuela but if we try to lug him back,”

“We’ll just make it worse.” Claude and Hilda sighed together. Hilda grimaced at the state of Felix.

From the back of the door Claude called out, “We’ll take Gilbert and some soldiers back to Garreg Mach, and leave the scribe and the last of the other fighters here since they aren’t so much of a threat.” None of them seemed to disagree with this openly. “We’ll grab Manuela on the way.”

“Ugh, more work for me!” Hilda muttered, but wandered back to the guards anyway.

They were all either handcuffed or tied up in rope, depending on what Hilda and Claude had found around them in the tower, presumably. Dimitri was a _little_ concerned over the fact that he hadn’t heard them arriving or arresting anyone, but he supposed fear was wont to addle senses.

Being currently manhandled was Gilbert, who was absolutely seething, but unable to move due to the magic trap on his arms and legs. Dimitri was about to either offer to help Claude – who was doing a pathetic job of trying to pick him up – or ask Annette to undo the magic on her father’s legs, when Hilda grabbed the old knight by the back of his shirt and threw him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Oof.” She grunted, grabbing another too men by their collars for good measure, and dragging them out of the room.

Claude, who’d looked more disappointed in himself than surprised at her strength, rolled his eyes and ushered two men to their feet, nodded to Dimitri and Annette, and then pulled them out the room.

“You hear that, Felix?” Annette was encouraging, “Manuela’s gonna be here soon to fix your legs, so we just have to fix up your back-”

“NghnooooooOOOARGGHH!” He was growling back, increasingly more agitated.

Dimitri put an arm in front of Annette before she could try to pry him off again, “He’s in pain, Annette…”

“He’s going to get an infection though, besides, if Manuela is going to heal his legs, he’ll probably have to be moved anyway.”

“Ih…. Iht hurghhhhtss…” He sobbed softly, more tears staining his cheeks.

Annette wiped them carefully, nodding, “I know, I know…”

She made eye contact with Dimitri, her eyes fiery and decisive in contrast to her soft pats and caresses, and tossed her head over in the direction of the wall. _Pull him,_ she mouthed.

His breath hitched and his eye widened, his hands shaking as he gently placed them on his shoulders. Despite Annette’s wishes to be discreet, Felix caught on to the plan quickly and moaned fearfully, trying to push further onto the wall, shaking his head. Annette made quiet shushing sounds at him like he was an injured animal, and continued to pat his moving head.

Dimitri took a deep breath as Felix let out a pitifully loud wail and dribbled. He began to pull Felix from the wall. He tugged his shoulders forwards decisively, attempting to rip him off quickly, like a plaster, but only managed to detach his shoulder blades before Felix fought back and screamed.

Dimitri pulled back immediately, in fear. Felix gurgled and howled, raging, and Annette tried her best to soothe him. Perhaps the animal simile was more accurate than he had assumed; watching Annette try to calm Felix was like watching a monk try to reassure a newly rescued, feral cat. Felix didn’t speak, but his actions spoke for him. He kicked, and thrashed, and flailed his newly healed arms around, yelling wordlessly. Every time he lost the energy to do so he would hiccup and gag.

“Your majesty please! Get him off the wall so I can heal him!” Annette pleaded, sweating.

Dimitri looked at his own hands, at Felix, at Annette-

“I can end his suffering in just a moment please!”

He took a deep breath and slid an arm over Felix’s back, found his underarms, wrapped his thumbs over the swordsman’s shoulders, and pushed him forwards, hard. The agonised cry it tore out of Felix was somehow even more disgusting than the state of his back.

There was so much _blood_ , and where there weren’t cuts – which ranged from unpleasant gashes to horrifying cracks – there were bruises. Lots of them. To make matters worse, grime from the wall he’d slid down and dried on had buried itself into the nooks and crannies. But at least nothing looked infected yet.

He didn’t get to have a good look, because Annette pushed his away from Felix to get a good look herself, wincing either at the unholy noises he was producing or at the state of his back.

“Give me the water, and some cloth.” She ordered.

He gasped stupidly in agreements and fumbled around on the floor for where he was _sure_ he must have dropped the waterskin. He felt around and found it near his right knee, _damned blind spot_ , and thrust it in Annette’s face. She took it briskly, holding another hand out for a cloth.

He patted himself down for a cloth blindly; hearing another cough from Felix he decided to just tear at his cape, it was only an old flag anyway. He handed the clump of cloth to Annette, who accepted it and dampened it with water. She swiped at Felix’s back decisively, scrubbing more deeply in various areas, enticing more agonised noises out from Felix’s mouth.

Dimitri ripped his cape off of his shoulders and laid it before him, ripping another piece off and passing it to Annette as the one she was using got dirty. She whispered a thanks and carried on working, going through another two torn pieces of flag cape before stopping him from tearing her another and placing glowing hands on Felix’s, now clean, back.

Dimitri watched as Felix’s howls receded to yelps, and then to groans, before he quietened down almost entirely, his head flopping onto Annette’s shoulder. When he looked at her hands, he noted they now touched unmarred skin.

“The screaming must have tired him out.” She smiled sympathetically, stroking the back of Felix’s head.

“Ye-es.” Dimitri hiccupped, and realised he’d been crying again.

But it was ok now, they just had to wait for Manuela.

-

The moment Claude had crossed the threshold between the tower and outside world with two soldiers in tow, he’d dropped their arms and beckoned Hilda – who was running ahead – back to him.

“Wait, what’s up Clau-” She was cut off by an ear splitting scream.

They both looked up at the tower.

“We’ll need to get back faster.” He brought to fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly, before quickly grasping at the men’s elbows again to prevent them from escaping, despite them making no move to. “Faster than we got here, at least.” He panted.

He squinted, staring off into the horizon, in the general direction of Garreg Mach. He saw Hilda do the same out of the corner of his eye. Another, longer, howl rang out from the tower and Claude almost dropped one of the men to whistle again when he saw two shadows flying through the sky.

“Alright,” he murmured, “They got the message.”

“Who…?” Hilda intoned, shaking her head to get her fringe out of her eyes with her hands full.

As soon as she’d asked the question, the shadows flew through the fog and quickly regained their forms. As the last dregs of mist were dispersed by their wings, the two wyverns were at last recognisable as Rossa and Chocolate.

“Aw, Choccy!” Hilda cooed as the larger, darker wyvern landed in front of her expectantly.

She frowned at him theatrically, “Aw Choccy Choc Choc, auntie Hilda doesn’t have any treats for you….” She wiggled the shoulder holding Gilbert suggestively, “Unless….”

“Hil-da.” Claude groaned.

“Alright!” She relented, moving past Chocolate’s head, dropping her men, and adjusting the saddle to her taste.

Claude focused back on himself, and on Rossa, his albino wyvern – a gift, and a great help during the war when Chocolate got injured – and went about securing his two prisoners to Rossa. He slung them, face down, over her back, behind the saddle – and the wings – and then attached their tied wrists together with a long rope. He made sure they weren’t squashed together, but close enough to not have one of them fall off, and then tied another knot in the rope which secured it to the saddle. From there he looped the remainder of the rope over the connections between: the men and the saddle, and one man to the other. He made sure to tie them off carefully and double check that they weren’t going to be jostled around _too_ much during the flight.

He mounted the wyvern and turned to Hilda and Chocolate, who were already in the air; Gilbert still slung over her shoulder, one man in Chocolate’s mouth and the other held in his feet. Neither looking rather confident in their survival.

He sighed.

“So much for keeping our prisoners safe, huh?”

“Who _cares_! Felix is in _such_ a _terrible_ state and these men are to blame!” She brought her hands together innocently, as if in prayer, “A little punishment s in order, don’t you think?” She batted her eyelids.

“Gaughhh…” He groaned, dragging a hand down the side of his face. “Alright! Whatever! Let’s get back to Garreg Mach.” He manoeuvred Rossa so that she faced the direction she’d come in. “Follow me!”

With that, he poked some small magical device on Rossa’s saddle – which lit up light blue with a little _beep! –_ and sped off. Behind him, Hilda kicked gently in her stirrups to get Chocolate following at the same speed.

Claude tried his best the keep them in a straight line; he could make sure they weren’t too close to the ground, since he could see the treeline beneath them, but with all the mist, it was hard to not go in circles. Thankfully, the speed they travelled at ensured that they made quick work of the foggy forest and were able to see once again.

Once out of the forest, Claude realised that, as expected, he’d miscalculated where exactly the monastery was, and had to take a sharp, swooping left turn to get back on track to it. Still, he was touching down in the stables not much more than 10 minutes after take-off.

As he dismounted and began untying his prisoners, Hilda announced her arrival behind him by having Chocolate drop the man held in his feet, who fell to the ground with a inconvenienced grunt. At least he didn’t look in pain.

She then landed and had Chocolate drop the other man, who also took the time to just groan on the floor like a sundried toad; the two of them probably just happy to be alive. Claude’s men seemed uncomfortable, one of them stretching his neck, the other rolling his shoulders and attempting to crack his back despite the rope binding his hands behind him. But at least they weren’t gasping for air and palely staring at the sky.

Hilda jumped off Chocolate and flipped Gilbert off her shoulder, so that he almost fell head-first onto the floor, if not for Claude frantically starting a quickly aborted whistle and yelling “catch!” at his darker wyvern. In the end, Gilbert was unscathed, but his upper body was trapped in the mouth of a very proud wyvern, who definitely expected treats. He grabbed some mints from the stables and tossed them at Rossa. Chocolate opened his mouth wide in the hopes to inspire Claude to shower him with sugar too. Gilbert slid out of his mouth and onto the floor slowly, unable to stand. Since he was fine now, Claude ignored his grumbles and fed Choc his fair share of mints.

A few stablehands tried to take his wyverns off him, but he waved them off, explaining that he’d be leaving to make rounds again soon.

“You can at least let Chocolate go rest.” Hilda said.

“Nope, there are still a few men left at the tower remember? You’ll have to go back to collect them along with me.”

“Ugh.” She moaned, but conceded the point. “Let’s go get these guys to the professor.”

“Where would they _be_ at this time I wonder…?” Claude mused.

“Who cares? Chances are: any guesses you have will be wrong. We _know_ that we need to collect Manuela so let’s just go find _her_ instead.” Hilda dismissed, “Besides, she might actually know where the professor is.”

Claude sighed, lifting his hands up in surrender, before looping them through his prisoner’s arms.

“Fine! Fine! To the infirmary it is.”

-

“Now I do _understand”_ Manuela repeated for the sixth time, “Why you were upset-”

“ _That doesn’t justify the black eye!”_ Sylvain, who was sitting on the other side of her desk, next to Ingrid, interrupted.

“- _yes I AM aware of that!!_ ” She clapped back with equal frustration, shaking clutched hands.

She turned back to Ingrid, “But – as we’ve _just_ established – you shouldn’t beat people up for making a mess-”

“He was _spitting everywhere!!!!!”_ Ingrid yelled.

“ _I KNOW!!!!!”_ Manuela yelled back hoarsely, coughing immediately afterwards and leaning back in her chair to recover. She gracefully reached for her glass and took a long sip of water in silence before turning back to them both.

“Just-,,,,, move on! _Please!_ ”

Ingrid and Sylvain looked at each other – or, rather, Ingrid glared softly at Sylvain whose one open, un-swollen eye regarded her with the apologetic twinkle of someone who was aware of their bad behaviour but fully intended to keep it up. It seemed to be enough for Ingrid who just groaned in defeat and apologised, mumbling _oaf_ under her breath and rubbing circles into his back. He seemed more than happy enough with that.

Manuela let out an exhale. _Finally, that’s over with-_

BANG

“Professor Manuela!” Claude barged into the room herding a group of men in with him. Ingrid and Sylvain both swivelled around to face him but Manuela didn’t even flinch. If anything, she just slumped further down in her seat, pressing her fingertips to her forehead, glancing at the chaos through her fingers.

It was only once Claude had moved his men aside to make room for Hilda, who – was also herding more men in but that was beside the point because she – had _Gilbert_ slumped over her shoulder-

That Manuela stood up quickly, trying to brush away her exhaustion.

“What’s wrong – is he injured?”

“Yeah,” Hilda drawled petulantly, “ _So, so_ badly injured, it’s just… too much for my poor fair eyes… maybe I _shouldn’t_ go back!”

Manuela’s eyes raked over Gilbert’s uninjured form suspiciously, “Go back wher-”

“She thinks you’re talking about Gilbert you idiot!” Claude reprimanded, “And stop trying to get out of work!”

“What work?” Ingrid asked, clearly ready to chastise.

“I’m not-” She began.

Claude beat her to it. “Felix is almost dead.”

Ingrid and Sylvain tensed together.

“What happened?” The redhead asked.

“We don’t have time to give details, we need Manuela-”

“ _What happened??!!”_ Sylvain pleaded.

“Well-”

Ingrid interrupted Hilda this time by standing up and marching over, “Just leave the men in that corner” – she pointed by the window – “And you” – she pointed at Hilda – “Stay behind and give Sylvain the details. I’ll go to help out.”

Hilda brightened up _immediately_ , “YES!”

Claude, for his part, looked displeased, but not surprised. “Just make sure you don’t let the men escape.” He sighed, “And if teach comes then tell them what happened too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hilda waved him off like a teenager being reminded by parents not to throw a castle-party in their absence.

Sylvain was looking between Claude, Hilda, and Ingrid. He opened his mouth to say something but was promptly shot down by Claude who said simply, “You can’t come buddy, we don’t have enough wyverns ready.”

He exhaled through his nose and slid down his seat at the same time that Manuela moved around her desk.

“Let’s go quickly, then, if it’s urgent.”

“Yes.” Ingrid agreed.

Claude nodded at them both, leaving his men to Sylvain and leading them out of the room.

“He’s being kept at a tower. It’s in the middle of a seriously foggy forest so it’s hard not to get lost; thankfully, I tracked our path back to the monastery using a magic orb I attached to Rossa a few moons back. It’s great for retracing steps, so we don’t have to risk trusting our eyes out there, we can just take the most direct route.” He was explaining as they passed through the doorway to the infirmary.

As she was leaving, Manuela heard Hilda start some similar, if a little more rambling, explanation to Sylvain.

-

When Felix came to after the agony he felt having his back fixed, he was lying down on something soft, and his face was wet. Perhaps it was raining? He couldn’t see. Still, he felt a lot lighter. No, scratch that, heavier, but more supported.

It was as if his legs were… wait… They _did_ say they’d bring Manuela didn’t they?

He rolled his foot to the left experimentally, he could twist them with only minor pains, but he couldn’t bend them. When he turned his legs inwards, his thighs made contact with the mattress he assumed he was lying on. But when they were turned outwards they were slightly elevated, and on some sort of solid ground. He was probably in the infirmary, and Manuela had probably attached some sort of support onto his broken legs to help them heal and keep them straight.

Except… It was definitely raining. He could feel the droplets on his face, a gust of wind.

As his hearing settled in, his assessment was supported by a quiet howl of wind from above him, followed by a louder howl from Dimi-

Felix shot up – or, at least, attempted to, without the aid of his legs – “Dimitri!”

Dimitri audibly startled, and Felix tried to blink out the darkness that he was become more and more accustomed to, in order to see his face. Which, by his calculations, was probably really close.

“Dimitri!” He tried again, only to have a large pair of hands push him back down onto the bed.

“Sh _hh_ Hh _hH_ Hh,” Dimitri’s voice quivered, “Stay in bed, now.” He rubbed circles into Felix’s belly and began rambling some nonsense.

“Dimitri.” He snapped in a whisper, trying to grab his attention away from whatever nasty thoughts the other man was having.

Dammit, why couldn’t he _see_?

“My apologies,” Dimitri’s reply was practically hummed, and very quiet.

“Louder!”

“My ap _holojees_!!” He wailed in an exhale.

“For fuck’s sake Dimitri stop blaming yourself!” Then, after a deep breath, “It’s not your fault.”

“But Gustave did it for-”

“ShhT!” Felix whistled, raising a single finger to quiet his king, aiming to place it on his mouth and instead poking Dimitri in the nostril. He didn’t back down, however, and left the finger there, proud to have at least correctly identified his face from sound alone.

“He did it for himself and…” Felix tried to think of what he’d understood of his one-sided ‘trial’, “…And for something in the journal…”

Dimitri wrapped his hand around Felix’s and dislodged it from his nose, flicking any dirt off of it before bringing the back of his hand to his mouth. “My father knew that you were entirely innocent.” He said.

“Innocent of _what_?? What is this black magic conspiracy?? Why do they think I’ve killed my brother??”

“They thought you killed your brother???” Dimitri was surprised, “I guess they were just tacking on all sort of ridiculous accusations.”

Felix’s eyesight _finally_ started to bleed in, and he found that he was incorrect in assuming that he was in the infirmary – he was still in the tower, judging by the walls, but no longer in the same room he was tortured in. But he _was_ correct in believing to be in bed with supports on his legs. He’d only been misled by the sounds of silly – _wonderful, lovely –_ Dimitri crying him a storm.

He turned his head carefully to face his king; the hair on his head dulled, like most of the colours which were still coming back to him slowly, but the pain on his face couldn’t be dimmed by the lack of pigment. His dark, red face all too notable even in greyscale.

“So what was the original accusation?” He asked, and watched as Dimitri’s gaze flickered from the hand under his nose to Felix’s face before making solid eye contact once sure that Felix could really _see_ him. For his part, Felix found that it wasn’t as hard to keep that eye contact when Dimitri’s eye wasn’t as strikingly blue.

Still, the serious look in that eye made him supress a shudder.

“As I’m sure you already saw in the-,,,” He faltered, bopping his head from side to side awkwardly, grimacing, “As I’m sure you heard during-,, or,, rather,,, at the end of… the meeting…. I-… um…”

“You love me, I know.” Felix dismissed, waving a hand, “I love you too.”

_That was easier to say partially colour-blind too. Huh._

Dimitri spluttered and blushed, gripping Felix’s hand with both of his now, resting his lips on his fingertips, tickling them warmly as he spoke.

“Well, he didn’t approve. I don’t think he had a problem with you _personally_ , but… You didn’t possess the, um… _necessary organs_ for childbirth-”

“Just _say_ I don’t have a pussy!” Felix rolled his eyes fondly, “So what, he didn’t like that you liked someone that couldn’t get you that special heir with a crest, so he scapegoated me or something?”

Dimitri’s eyes widened and he perked up, “You’ve hit the nail on the head!”

Felix huffed proudly from where he lay, looking up at Dimitri like a baby looking at dangling toys in their cot.

“ _They_ also hit something nasty through his right leg.” Manuela spoke up from somewhere to his right, and his head smacked the opposite side of the pillow as he spun round to face her, “So no training for three weeks. Okay?”

“Three weeks???” He sneered, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yes Felix!!” Annette groaned affectionately from the chair behind her.

“Ugh…”

Dimitri vibrated in his seat, either out of discomfort or excitement, “You could join me and Mercedes’ embroidery sessions!”

“Embroidery?”

“Yes! That would be lovely!” Annette chimed in, “I think we’ll all go together, right Felix?”

“Why not?” He said sarcastically.

Annette whooped in excitement and Manuela chuckled at her.

“You know Felix,” The older woman said, “I heard from the professor, who read this in the diary; and Dimitri, who probably just remembers it, that you’re actually _great_ at making flower crowns!”

“I wouldn’t call myself-”

“The combinations of flowers we found you using in the earlier passages in the diary were really exciting! I bet you’d be just _won_ derful at flower arranging! And since you’ve got all these weeks off,” She winked, “How about we decorate the monastery together?”

“Oh that’d be great!” Dimitri, _that great, dumb animal_ , agreed before he could put a word in.

Oh well, it wasn’t his _least_ favourite activity. He was rather fond of mixing odd, somewhat mismatched things together to create something unique. _Just look at my outfit_ , he thought.

Whilst the others chatted away about how Felix would be bedridden for a few days, and how that would be a great time to start embroidery classes, the swordsman drifted off into a light sleep.

-

Dimitri and Manuela hauled the mattress off Claude’s wyvern, watching as the man himself tossed a few treats in each of his wyvern’s mouths and took them both to the stables.

“Good babies~” He cooed, “You’ve done a lot of hard work today~ We’re gonna get you a nice bath and-”

“Thank you Claude!” Dimitri called, “We’ll go up ahead!”

“-Sure thing!” He yelled back, quickly turning back to his wyverns afterwards, “And then you’ll get lots of snuggles and treats won’t you~?”

As the group walked to the infirmary with a sleeping Felix in tow, Claude’s baby-voice got quieter and quieter.

“He’s a little… eccentric, isn’t he?” Annette giggled, scratching the back of her neck.

“Well in his defence,” Dimitri smiled, “He did wait for us with two excitable wyverns at the bottom of the tower whilst we patched up Felix. I think that would drive anyone mad.”

Ingrid groaned in agreement. “They were jumping around everywhere, what _took_ you guys so long? And I don’t mean that in the accusatory sense,” She amended, “I just… y’know…. Claude saw what Felix looked like… and… so did I, when we went to fetch the last of the men. But since we were with the wyverns we didn’t end up hearing what exactly happened.” She looked mournfully at her friend’s sleeping form.

“I had to reset and heal broken bones.” Manuela said. “You’re all very lucky that I had perfected that surgical magic I was telling Mercedes about the other day: the one which allows me to see and reach through flesh and use small light magic currents to move things about without the need to pierce the skin. Or else I wouldn’t have been able to do much without my operating tools. That and it wouldn’t have been sanitary.”

-

They got to the infirmary doors rather quickly, and Annette – who neither carried Felix’s mattress nor was she towing in the last of the men Ingrid and Claude had dragged back – rushed ahead of them to open the door. Hilda’s voice immediately wafted out.

“So you see, there were these really stinky guys on the other side of the big scary door, and one of them was wearing a _dark purple_ jacket over a _navy_ doublet and it was the worst thing I’d _ever_ seen in my _life_ -!”

“-Yes yes Hilda I’ve heard this _three_ times now! When does Felix come in??” Sylvain was snapping.

From what Dimitri could see, Hilda had started some sort of children’s story-time corner in the infirmary; she sat on the desk whilst Sylvain (who was seething), Ashe and Dedue (who looked confused), and the professor (who looked stoic as always) were sitting in a semi-circle before her.

“And I told you I’m getting to that!” She looked up and saw Annette, “Oh!” Hilda squealed, “More listeners, I think we’ll have to start agai-”

“Start the story all over again _one more time Hilda-!”_ Sylvain broke out into a yell, leaning forwards menacingly.

“Don’t worry about us!! We already have the story!!” Annette placated, bringing her hands up.

“And Felix!” Dimitri beamed innocently, taking Manuela’s side of the mattress out of her hands and placing the whole thing (with Felix on it) down onto a bed. That bed now had _two_ mattresses, but he didn’t want to move Felix lest he wake the other man up.

General noises of excitement and acknowledgment sounded from the group at the desk, and Sylvain threw himself out of his seat to be at Felix’s bedside.

“Fe??” He whispered in a panic.

The man in question opened an eye. “Sylvain.”

Annette gaped at him indignantly, “Were you awake this whole time????”

“Yes, but what did you except me to do??? Stand up and walk?????”

Ingrid just grimaced in the background.

“Can he… not…?” Ashe asked gently, also rising from his seat to stand next to Sylvain.

Dedue followed him, peering at Felix from over Ashe’s head, whereas Hilda and the professor moved to stand at the foot of the bed. Dimitri was already standing on the other side of Felix’s head, but moved backwards to make space for Ingrid, who could not see behind him. Annette and Manuela squashed into the remaining space next to her.

“There are suddenly a lot of people around me…” Felix spoke as if what he’d said was a warning.

“But can you walk?” Sylvain repeated.

“No.”

“What??!”

“His legs were broken.” Manuela supplied. “With some good magic, plenty of food, and healthy bedrest he’ll have them fixed in a few days. That said,” She pointed at his right leg, “They did a real nasty job on that one: damaged some nerves… Simply put, he’s going to have a limp at best, and a deadweight leg worth amputating at worst. But he’ll live, and we can get him a fake leg if necessary.”

“Will I be able to fight?” Felix asked quickly.

“The war is over Felix.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

They started at each other for a while.

Manuela sighed, “With enough practice you’ll be fit enough to best anyone in a tournament again, but you’re not going to be in the right sort of form to be entering a proper battle anytime soon, if ever.”

Felix considered this with his brows furrowed. “Fine.” He pouted.

“Fine?? What happened to our Felix??” Sylvain panicked, looking at Manuela, and then at Ingrid, “What happened to him??”

“I was lucky to make it out alive, Sylvain-”

“Out _where_??” Sylvain yelled, “ _What the fuck happened to him_???”

There was an uneasy silence where the newcomers to the scene all did their best to avert their eyes. In the awkward silence, Hilda spoke up cheerily.

“ _Like I was saying-”_

“-In the interest of saving time,” Dimitri intercepted, “I think I’ll tell the story-”

“No!” Annette blurted out, causing everyone to look at her. Tears bubbled in her eyes as she gripped her white skirt, wrinkling it between her fingers. “My _father_ did this… I have to… I _have_ to tell the story…!”

From the forgotten corner of the room, where all the captured soldiers (and scribe) had been herded, Gilbert spoke up carefully.

“Annette…”

“No father!” She cried back, “No father you’ve done _enough_!!”

“Annette!” He said, firmer now, like she was a small child once again, and he was reprimanding her. “What I did was for the greater good of the kingdom. That man there was a great pest to the king-”

“I’m gonna marry your holy King out of spite, and then adopt 10 orphans and call them all ‘Gilbert sucks’.” Felix grumbled dryly from the bed.

“What’s this about the king and marriage?” Sylvain asked with genuine curiosity.

Dedue made some noise of confusion from where he towered over Ashe, causing the smaller man to look up at him sympathetically.

“We have heard _so much_ today!” He said, “I thought that we’d have just another boring day weeding, but since my finger got a nasty cut and we had to come here, so much has happened!”

“I agree.” The professor put in.

Annette startled, “I forgot you were here professor!”

They merely blinked at her like a frog.

Ashe faltered a little at their reaction but asked, “Why _did_ you come here professor?” regardless.

They turned to Ashe and Dedue and blinked at them both too.

“Dedue is here.” They said cryptically, before pulling an entire gardening rake out of their inside blazer pocket and handing it to him, over Felix’s bed.

“Oh.” He said calmly, whilst Ashe’s jaw practically unhinged before him, “That’s mine professor. Thank you.” He took it, flipped it around and pushed the handle down his collar so that he wore it like a broadsword over his back.

“Wow.” Felix said.

Dimitri and Annette nodded in agreement.

“From what I gathered, Sylvain,” Ingrid began, bringing to conversation back to a more serious topic, “Felix was tortured for-”

“ _TORTURED?????”_ He shrieked, whipping around to face Gilbert who just frowned at him defiantly.

“For the sake of the kingdom.”

“FOR THE SAKE OF MY ASS.”

“I was scapegoated Sylvain.” Felix said, waving off Sylvain’s complaints as he turned back around to face him. As he rested his hand on his stomach again, he looked up at the ceiling pensively. “Whatever was in that notebook painted me as some regicidal maniac who was doing everything in his power - with like… dark magic and such - to indoctrinate Dimitri into killing his father and starting a revolution,” He whisked his hand in the air. “Or something... Anyway, Gilbert might not have known that it was all false-”

“Gustave was very aware that it was all false.”

Sylvain’s frown intensified, whereas Felix just pulled the sides of his lips down in contemplation.

“Or maybe he did?” Felix shrugged, “I don’t care. He didn’t end up killing me and uhh, it didn’t last long I don’t think?? And I’m all fixed up now. Nothing worse than I’ve already suffered.” He tried to smile.

“ _Oh Fe…”_ Sylvain started crying, reaching his big hands out to cuddle him, and only succeeding for the fact that Felix couldn’t do much except scoot over slightly to escape.

Dimitri watched the two of them sympathetically. He watched as Sylvain’s hand cupped the back of Felix’s head, how he sobbed into his friend’s collar, how Felix’s own hand raked through the redhead’s hair. How Sylvain cooed at Felix and how it made his nose scrunch up in annoyance or pain, and how Felix’s little nostrils flared and closed repeatedly like a flickering lamp. He looked like a little rabbit.

He didn’t talk after Sylvain released him, probably to compose himself. Dimitri could feel his eyebrows raise and draw together just seeing him so defenceless. The air felt a little denser, and he really saw _how close_ he had been to losing Felix; to losing his little rabbit with his little twitching nose. When he’d found him, bloodied and alone, he’d been furious, he’d been devastated, but he hadn’t taken the moment to just be… sad. To just miss the little things.

Losing someone is awful, because all at once, there is one less person in your life. But after that agony, you’re always left with little micro-pains, with little termites that eat away at you slowly. He’d been horrified at the prospect of never seeing Felix again, but he hadn’t had the time to think about the little things. How he’d have enter an empty training ground, how he’d have to find someone to look after the horse that Felix had owned but didn’t like riding, how he’d need a new partner to help him clear the rubble. The little things which slowly ate away at the values he’d found for himself, the ones that made him love a father which he should hate, repress feelings which he should follow, love a system which he should change; just because to live as he wanted left too many open wounds. Just because to follow his own wants without his father to reprimand him at every corner felt raw, and painful, when relieving his ghost and staying in its favour did wonders.

“-tri?” Felix was talking; he couldn’t really see him through the tears. He was a million miles away but his voice sounded out from right next to him, and in his mind’s eye he saw his childhood.

He pulled little Felix to his chest, who was pulsing from hyperventilation, crossing his arms over his back and squeezing him tightly.

“My little Felix!” He sobbed inconsolably, “I miss you so, so…” He heaved a breath. “RRIAGHH!!!” Words eluded him, and he let out an animal wail.

“Shhhhh.” Felix hushed softly, smoothing over his hair, and scratching his scalp with gentle precision.

“NRRRRRAAARGGGGHH!” He gripped Felix’s shoulders, “NRGHHHHRRRRAIIIIII NEVER WA-ANT TO LO-OSE YOU!!!!” He gasped for air, “NOT _AGAIN_!!”

He roared as water dribbled out of his eye, straight onto Felix’s chest. For his part, Felix just continued trying to console him.

He thought he heard someone around the bed trying to speak, but his wails carried far too much sound for him to hear anyone besides the man in his arms whisper, “Dima?”

“FE! MY FEFE!”

“My Dima.” Felix assured, leaning back against Dimitri’s tight grip to press a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead, before nuzzling it, “Dima, Dima.” The nose that dragged across the king’s forehead was wet with tears. He hadn’t shed those publicly in years.

It grounded Dimitri a little, _he’s here, he’s back_. But perhaps _back_ was incorrect as an evaluation. Felix wasn’t small anymore, and their history didn’t get less intense or cruel because of this embrace. Nonetheless, now… _now,_ he felt safe again. He never lost Fefe. Fefe was in Felix all along. Their bodies were just two shells keeping them apart, and now, with their outer layers significantly battered, their little hearts and souls escaped like wisps and twisted together, and it felt like the same warm, nostalgic hug they’d shared each time they were reunited after months of being apart.

“Fefe…”

A warm hand carded through his blonde hair warmly. “Dima…”

“Fe-”

“Dude.”

Dimitri tried to shoot out of Felix’s arms only for Felix to tighten his grip on him, drawing him closer again. He smoothened out Dimitri’s hair again and snarled at Sylvain.

“Fuck off.”

Sylvain sighed heavily. “Dude, I thought he _really_ did a number on you for a sec… Why’re… I mean… You’re not usually this mushy…”

“Well,” Felix growled, “I almost died, I’m allowed to be sentimental. Besides he’s my boyfriend now so-”

“BOYFRIEND?????”

Everyone around the bed gaped at them… except the professor.

“Boyfriend?” Dimitri asked shyly, just as confused as everybody else.

Felix blushed, all bright red like a tomato, “Why?? Do you not want to be?”

“Of course I do!” He cut in quickly, and then leaning back onto Felix slowly, “I just wasn’t expecting the title is all.” He smiled into Felix’s chest before his anxiety spiked and he bolted up assuring, “It’s a good kind of unexpected!”

“I _know_ you silly boar.” He smirked affectionately, his face all sharp and cruel, but with such kind little eyes. Kind… and weary…

Dimitri brought a thumb (which he realised was actually quite large in comparison to Felix’s face, _make sure to be gentle and not hurt him!!_ ) up to Felix’s cheekbone, and then slid it up just a little higher until it rested on his right eye bag. He gently massaged it, as if trying to ease the years of sleepless nights away from him in seconds.

Felix’s eyelids drooped as he looked at Dimitri sleepily, his brown eyes like little lanterns being snuffed out.

“You are tired.” Dimitri hummed.

“Sleep with me.” Felix whined, tugging Dimitri’s arm and, unintentionally, on his heartstrings.

Dimitri nodded and scooped him up, evoking a whimper from Felix, who had been settling into the mattress, which petered out into a little murmur as Felix threw his arms over Dimitri’s shoulders and snuggled his head into the crook of his neck.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“To my room?” Felix asked quietly.

“Of course.”

A wolf-whistle sounded out, to which Felix grumbled from his resting place and gave out a half-arsed “Fuck off.”

Sylvain’s laughter, followed immediately but someone – Ingrid – tutting at him, echoed after the two men as they left the infirmary.

“I’m sorry about him.” Dimitri said as they reached the stairs.

“Don’t bother,” Felix breathed, “He’s just worried, I think.”

Dimitri hummed noncommittally.

“He’s got a weird way of showing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated, especially if it is just a keyboard smash or a dumb meme :3   
> Paragraph comments are very sexy tho, don't feel worried about sending me an essay, unless it is an essay on my faults because I am well aware of those and just too lazy to fix them thankyouverymuch. (╥﹏╥)✌️


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broom broom I'm back on my bullshit. Haven't proof read this either im so sorry.  
> Idek why it took so long to post LMAO.

With the two lovebirds out of the room, everyone could now pay full attention to the men in the corner.

So what should we do with-” Sylvain gestured vaguely at Gilbert and the other men who’d been deposited in the infirmary.

“The _Criminal Corner_.” Hilda supplied dramatically. “Mmmm, I don’t know.”

“We ought to put them on trial.” Manuela said.

“I’ll officiate.” The professor said, raising a hand.

“I want to judge too!” Annette cried out, “He’s _my_ father and I just,,, I _have_ to understand _why-_ ”

“For the sake of the Kingdom Ann-”

“FOR THE SAKE OF NOTHING!!!”

“-MY ASS!!!” Annette and Sylvain yelled back.

Ingrid brought a hand to her lips in genuine thought, and Ashe looked at Dedue for some sort of answer.

The larger man turned to face Gilbert. “If you really were doing this for his majesty, why would he oppose you?”

“Because he’s been brainwashed!”

“Hold it!” The professor intervened, “We need to think of a good environment to hear everyone out, so we’ll have to save questions until then.”

Dedue nodded, whereas Ashe looked uneasy.

Hilda cocked her head to the side, “Where would _Rhea_ deal with this sort of stuff?”

“Seteth’s rooms would be good for interrogation, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help!” Ingrid suggested.

“Oh please,” Said Manuela, looking genuinely sick, “I beg of you not to put us all through one of Seteth’s lectures.”

“I second that.”

“Shut up Hilda he’s not going to be talking to you anyway! This is about Fe!”

“And I’m sure _he_ wouldn’t wanna hear Seteth’s lecture either!”

“I don’t think that Felix would be the one on the receiving end of-”

“You weren’t even _there_ , you were at the _greenhouse._ Remember? Without me to fill you in-”

“Not to be rude, but I don’t think you did much filling in Hilda-”

“No way Ashe she did _waaaaaaaaaaayyy_ too much-”

“I told you I was _getting there-_ ”

“You didn’t go anywhere, I flew back to Felix with Claude in your place!”

“Not _literally!”_

“Well anyway professor the war council room would probably be our best bet.” Manuela said. “We can rearrange the table a little and it’ll be great for questioning!”

“We should still tell Seteth; this is big news, and archbishop Rhea is too sick right now to listen in.”

“Oooooh, _please don’t bring Seteth_.”

“Why’re you so big on Seteth anyway Ingrid?” Sylvain asked.

“Because he’s quite wise, _and_ , like I said before: archbishop- or,, I guess,, _ex_ -archbishop Rhea won’t be able to make it. But I’m sure that Seteth will-”

The door opened. In stepped two people, one wearing a rather grave expression and the other, who stood in front, looking a mixture of pleased and worried; excited, in the vaguest sense.

“My goodness! So many people!” Flayn said, “I heard that Felix was injured!”

“Well he’s not here now.” The professor stated.

“Oh I am aware, thank you!”

“Who told you?” Sylvain narrowed his eyes.

“My! Such distrust! It was Felix himself slung over his majesty’s shoulder!”

“Then why come here?” Hilda frowned.

Seteth cleared his throat from behind her.

Hilda and Manuela stood up straight.

The older man ushered his sister inside the infirmary and walked in behind her, looking back at the door and then choosing not to close it.

“Flayn heard that a member of our own staff was the cause of one of our ex-students and soldiers being harmed,” He looked over at Gilbert in the Criminal Corner meaningfully, “So I came here to help question him. However, seeing as there appear to be quite a number of people involved, we are best off bringing this to the war council room.”

“I told you.” Manuela mumbled.

Seteth ignored her, “So please, each of you take one of the men on your way out, Flayn and I shall escort Gilbert to the room to be questioned.”

Flayn nodded fiercely beside him.

“Actually Flayn,” Ingrid said, “Do you mind getting Claude for me, he was actually present to see Felix’s state at the tower. And he knows where that tower is.”

Annette hummed in agreement.

“Yes, that would be helpful.” Seteth said pensively, nodding, “Flayn, please see to it that Claude is with us for our investigation.”

“Roger!” She said seriously, albeit a little childishly, and then ran off towards the stairs.

“…” Dedue shifted in place. “We didn’t give her any kind of directions….”

Ashe nodded sympathetically, but both were dismissed by Seteth who ordered everyone to continue as planned.

“She’ll find him I’m sure.”

With that, the room was promptly emptied and the group made their way to the war council room.

-

Sylvain sat to the side of the war council room. It had been rearranged so that the long table stood widthways, splitting the room into halves. Sat on one side of the table were the various captured men; Gilbert was sitting right in the centre.

Directly opposite him, at a small desk they’d dragged in, was the professor and Seteth. They had their backs to the entryway, to ensure nobody could escape. To the professor’s immediate right were Ingrid and Hilda, and to Seteth’s left were Claude, Manuela, and Annette. They were the five most involved with the incident, after all; the five that had actually _seen_ Felix.

The rest of them present – Flayn, Ashe, Dedue, Sylvain himself, and Leonie, who they’d encountered on the way – were all sat on chairs pulled to the side-lines. They were, unfortunately, mere witnesses to the trial, but Sylvain was already sure that he would speak out if necessary.

“So it really was old Gilbert, huh?” Leonie said from next to him, “I sort of… can’t believe it…”

Sylvain leaned over slightly to hear her better, “Yeah. Me too.”

Ashe leant over to her sympathetically, “I can imagine it’s a lot to take in at once!”

“Nah don’t sweat it.” She spat with fierce eyes and a smug smile, “This guy beat up my best sparring partner. I don’t really care about this trial,” She cracked the knuckles on her left hand, “I just wanna get assigned his punishment personally.”

Dedue leaned closer to Sylvain to speak under his breath. “If I’m being completely honest I don’t think that the professor will dole out corporeal-”

“All right.” Seteth slapped his hand down firmly on the table until the room quietened.

“This is not so much a trial – since we know the suspect is guilty – so much as a questioning. Gilbert,” He said, nodding at the older man, who nodded stiffly back, “What compelled you to charge Felix with…” He held his hand out to his left and Claude placed a crumpled stack of papers onto his palm. He skimmed them slowly. “…All of these… creative charges?”

The old man stared at Seteth quietly, almost like a ghost. “For the sake of-”

“-We’ve already established that Felix was scapegoated and Dimitri claims that you were aware of this.” The professor cut in sharply, “Please tell us the truth.”

Gilbert’s cold stare didn’t manage any warmth as he slowly shut his jaw with obvious effort and frustration. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he seemed more melancholic than angry.

He took a deep breath before locking up entirely, closing his eyes and stilling like a statue, only to flinch when a sharp,

“FATHER!”

Cut through the air.

“Annette…”

“STOP IT!” She screamed, high pitched, inconsolable, like Dimitri had been in Felix’s embrace. Sylvain didn’t much like that image, but the scene of his two broken friends was burnt into his mind. He shouldn’t even have hated it as much as he did, since it seemed to bring them piece; but Sylvain never once fancied love as a fix for problems. He was too deeply scarred to do anything but worry about the speed that they’d rushed into each other’s lives again, and at what cost that would come to. And yet… He should be happy for them, he should be-

“FATHER!!!!”

The image was cut short, and instead, Sylvain thought about how much they should have taken Mercedes.

Annette’s eyes were drenched with tears that ran down her cheeks freely. It was enough to make Sylvain and, judging by her reaction, Leonie uncomfortable. Annette had never been stoic, like the professor was naturally; stone-faced like Dedue; or afraid to be vulnerable like Fe, but they’d still never seen her _cry_. It was… _weird._ Now that he thought about it. He’d seen Ashe cry, he thought he’d heard his majesty cry through the thin walls, but Annette had never cried so fully in front of him.

“STOP!!” She heaved, “STOP JUST,,, DOING ALL,,,, THIS,,,,!!! STOP HIDING THE PAST!! WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND YOU IF YOU JUST,,,,-!” She made a frustrated hand gesture, “ _TELL US_!!!!”

She opened her mouth to scream again but Gilbert beat her to it.

“Annette!” His eyes widened enough to get a full glimpse of their bright colour, usually dimmed by his grim expression. “I’ll explain.” He looked down, knitting his eyebrows together, “…Even if I don’t think you’ll like the story…”

She calmed down ever so slightly, sinking into her seat like a pile of slime. Gilbert started to do much the same thing, except that he caught himself, and sat back up straight. He looked directly at the professor, managing to look composed and in control, despite being unable to make eye contact with his daughter.

“So…?” She asked.

“So…” He repeated, pained. “It’s a very long story… But it’s all captured in that journal… In terms of reasoning… That’s much more simple.” He glanced at Annette for a second before looking guiltily back at the professor.

“Prince, now King, Dimitri needs to have an heir, for the sake of the kingdom. He needs to get married. To a woman. Or, at least, to a man with a vagina. Since Felix does not fit into those categories, we had to do all we could to rid him of that affection. Once we realised that we couldn’t, well… then we had to… deal with the problem more creatively…”

“Through murder?” Claude breathed, shaking his head, baffled.

“Murder????” Annette affirmed more loudly.

“…” Gilbert looked at his hands, “You wouldn’t understand… I _knew_ you wouldn’t understand… You keep seeing the person and I keep seeing the kingdom-”

“I stole and read the entire journal!” Sylvain spoke up suddenly, making everyone in the centre of the room turn to him in varying levels of shock. (Besides Ingrid who’d gotten into a fight with him precisely because of that, alongside the spitting.) He took a deep breath, starting to quiver with anger. A hand touched his shoulder blade, it was probably Ashe’s – it was too small to be Dedue’s and too gentle to be Leonie’s – but it did nothing to calm him boiling nerves.

“I read it all!” He yelled, jerking his head forwards like a chained dog, “And I saw that his majesty cared deeply for the kingdom, and hoped to reform it completely, _through his marriage_!”

“I also read this.” The professor concurred, raising their hand and nodding to Seteth.

Seteth nodded back, and then turned to Gilbert, “So then. What is your answer for this?”

When Sylvain looked back at Gilbert it was almost as if the man had stopped working, as if one little more push might kill him.

“In fact,” The redhead goaded, “Wasn’t king Lambert assassinated because of his own ideas for a political reform? If it wasn’t the type of reform that his current majesty would approve of, then it can’t have benefitted the people, or the _kingdom._ So, who _was_ it benefitting? Was this king you blindly followed really all that just?”

-

Dimitri deposited Felix onto his bed, the man in question letting out a cat-like “Mrrr?” at the loss of the Dimitri’s arms.

“You’ll be fine in your infirmary nightgown, but I need to get unchanged okay?” Dimitri placated softly.

Felix’s eyes shot open, despite the clear exhaustion.

“What??” Dimitri breathed, his eye widening in response.

Felix just fixed his eyes on Dimitri’s hands.

“I wanna see.”

“Ohh..” Dimitri whimpered, the blood rising up his throat and filling his head until he was a cherry tomato. “I see, then- I- I’ll-” He looked about Felix’s room awkwardly, and shifting in place, “I’ll keep that in mind…”

Despite saying that, his first call was to turn around so as to shield himself from Felix’s gaze, and then undress under the illusion that he was _not_ , in fact, being watched.

He stripped down to his underclothes, leaving his boots near the door, and then slowly, fearfully, turned back around to face Felix.

The man’s eyes rose from whatever he’d previously had them trained on to Dimitri’s hair, which had surely been tousled by the wresting match he’d almost had with his shirt.

Seeing as Felix didn’t move to make space for him Dimitri opened his mouth to ask if he should try to climb over him, and then remembered the state of Felix’s legs. In fact, was he supposed to even pick Felix up like he had before? Manuela had put casts and supports on his legs so they were fine… right?

Either way, he stretched over Felix’s head, trying to ignore the way Felix’s pupils dilated at the sight of his chest, and then hiked his legs over the smaller man to situate himself closer to the wall. Felix shuffled around as much as he could to face him and then pouted adorably.

“Hug me.”

Dimitri smiled broadly, sliding an arm under Felix and snaking another over to the of him, and trapping him in his arms. Felix snuggled into the warmth, and slotted against him as comfortably as he had when they were children. He’d loved those nights. Cuddled up against Felix, who was always complaining about how cold the night was, even though when the two of them would wake up, it was always Felix who’d have tossed and turned and sweat through his clothes.

“Hey fefe,” Dimitri whispered, “Do you remember our sleepovers as children?”

“We aren’t children anymore Dimitri.” Felix stated and Dimitri felt all the animation seep out of him.

Felix must have noted it too, because he made a rumbling sound and then added, “It’s not a sleepover now. We’re… boyfriends…” He was pink.

“We are!” Dimitri sighed contently, bringing his face closer to Felix’s.

“So what now?”

“Now?”

Dimitri nodded.

“We sleep.”

“Yes, but… after…”

“We wake?”

“No I mean, what does this boyfriend thing mean, am I,,,- ….” He blinked slowly, “Am I… forgiven…?”

Felix didn’t answer and Dimitri’s eye flickered upwards to read his face. Felix looked sleepy, for the most part, his lips pursed like a baby, his eyes narrowed, and cheek smooshed against the pillow.

“I… I talked to Annette about it, and I think that… Whilst I don’t want you to ever take out your anger on villagers again... I understand that it was a hard time for you… and that battle is battle…” His eyes met Dimitri’s for just a second, “I understand now that … It’s always ugly…”

“I see.” Dimitri replied, not really knowing what to add.

“Stop worrying yourself you sausage.” Felix said. “Annette said she’d help us find people to talk to, people to help us. So… I’ll not be all angry at you anymore, because, it’s annoying. It’s annoying that every time I look at you, it’s hard not to hate you because I always have. It’s annoying that if I don’t call you Dima I feel like I’m cheating on my first love. It’s all… _annoying._ ” He concluded in a way that suggested that had he his hands free he’d have thrown them up in exasperation.

“I see.” Dimitri said again, and then winced at how terrible he was at communicating. “I will do my best to show you I’ve changed my love.”

He waited for Felix’s reply, was the ‘love’ too much??

“I’m already pretty sure you’re… taking better care of yourself.” He looked all over Dimitri’s face, tired but fond, “Saying _changed_ feels weird when you never really… It’s always just been… you… Hasn’t it? Dima, Dima in a crisis, angry Dima, gentle Dima…” He looked down in distress, “I’d always wished – every time that I called you a beast or a boar – that you’d tell me I was wrong, or that you’d beat the words out of me so that at least I couldn’t miss you anymore… But you always just… took it. It made me think that I really was talking to some weird monster that possessed my friend, and then I hated the sight of you. Even though you were so cute.”

Dimitri stayed silent, he wasn’t going to risk cutting Felix off when the man already rarely spoke to him. But it seemed Felix had little more to say.

“I prefer you now though, you’re so big and _handsome_!” He drew the word out as if he were drunk, probably because of the exhaustion, and Dimitri was reminded of their need to _sleep._

“It is bedtime Felix.” He kissed the man, “You are so tired your eyes are playing tricks on you, please sleep.”

Felix stretched and hummed, smiling like a cat as he said, “I’m pretty sure I’m right…” Right before nodding off the sleep.

Dimitri’s mouth curved upwards a little as Felix’s breathing evened out. As he tried to think of ways to extract himself from Felix’s warm side without waking the other man – since the goddess only knew that he couldn’t sleep – he debated just staying in the bed and appreciating the experience before the world tilted, and he found himself falling in place. He jerked awake again, but before he could properly comprehend the sensation, he was lulled to sleep by a mixture of the tiredness that must have caused the shock, and Felix’s soft snores.

-

“So then,” Seteth concluded, the only one in the room left not seemingly drained of all life due to exhaustion, “Gilbert: you will stay here until tomorrow, at which time you will be taken home and be subject to house arrest. The rest of you: since you were only doing your jobs, I believe that being forced to clean up the mess and helping me install measures that ensure this doesn’t happen again is more than enough punishment.”

Dedue stretched and stood up like clockwork as soon as Seteth’s statement was given; Sylvain had no idea how he managed. The questioning had taken hours, and the sun had long gone down by this point. It had already been sunset when Felix was dragged in, and, if he had to guess, he’d say it was past midnight by now.

Regardless, Dedue strode over to the men on the other side of the table-wall and, probably in response to some signal from Seteth, began to untie them all, besides Gilbert.

As each one of them was released they let out a sigh and stretched themselves indulgently. Sylvain felt a little bad for them if he was honest. The first one to be untied got up and left the room quickly to find his bed, by contrast the second just stretched and then fell asleep right there. His head hit the table with a loud thunk and Dedue’s head whipped round to check if the man had done any damage to himself.

Ashe was sleeping in his chair, he realised as Leonie huffed out a groan and picked the poor man up, hauling him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Despite this – and for all that Ashe seemed the type to sleep gently and lightly like a princess – he seemed to barely register the rough treatment and snored softly the whole time that Leonie carried him out of the room.

Taking this as his sign to leave he raised his arms over his head and yawned, standing up slowly and grabbing the back of his chair for support, like a crickety old man, snorting to try and properly rouse himself. He gave his legs a little shake each, and then, realising that his every action only served to make him more tired, he endeavoured to just run to his room and try to make it before he collapsed.

He jogged out of the door and then down the corridors. Once he’d made it to the dormitory stairs, he sighed, slowing his step until he was practically crawling up them. A few times he considered just falling down and lying on the stairs like a rat, but then remembered that Ingrid would also be coming up these stairs, and she’d be much less forgiving than his ego.

He dragged himself along the hall like a wraith; he hovered around, practically blind and deaf, feeling around for steps and for doorknobs. Once he made it to the end of the corridor, he fumbled around to open the door and then kicked it open once the handle was turned. Without turning to close it, he stalked into the room and collapsed face first onto the bed, falling asleep immediately.

-

When Felix woke up, he awoke to the sound of a cat purring, a loud rumbling in short spurts. It resonated within his ear, almost as if it were being sounded directly into it. He tried to shift slightly away from the vibrations as the tickled him, only to find himself trapped under…

Dimitri.

His eyes shot open, in his peripheral vision, he could see the colour of Dimitri’s hair, and when he turned to his right to look at the man, he found him sleeping with his face smooshed into the pillow, his jawline scraping the crook of Felix’s neck. Felix had similarly slotted his face on top of Dimitri’s shoulder, and he found that his hands warmed Dimitri’s bare back. For a split second his heart raced, as he thought about _his legs_!!!

But the boar had pretty much starfished on top of him, so Felix’s legs were entirely uncovered, un-squashed, and unharmed.

 _I need to get up to train._ Was his first thought, and then. _Oh wait, I can’t._

And with that eloquent train of thought he relaxed back into his position and let Dimitri snore (loudly – so much so that one might even liken him to a pig, a boar even) into his ear again, shivering at the sensation.

Something warm rose up in Felix’s stomach as he thought about how _healthy_ the snoring was, which was a silly thought, because it was just a noise but… he’d never heard Dimitri snore before. Perhaps the noise had been cancelled out by the walls, or maybe Dimitri had always suffered from the insomnia he’d talked about openly at his worst. Either way, Felix was certain that this was a sacred sound, one that he might not hear for years; so he was going to appreciate it.

-

Dimitri stood awkwardly in front of the steps from the monastery to the small on-campus market. He’d risen, and subsequently woken up his partner, whilst the sun was high in the sky. He’d sworn profusely, and then tugged on his clothes as quickly as possible, expecting Felix to do the same, only to turn around and meet his anxious eyes and remember that _he can’t walk._

He’d passed Felix his clothes (he’d wanted to dress him but Felix gave him a look that screamed ‘ _pity will get you gutted_ ’ so he refrained from doing so) and then carried him to the infirmary. Manuela had done some checks, knocked a thing or two into place and had then unfolded a wheelchair for Felix. The moment he was in it, he was unstoppable; he was popping wheelies to get up bumps and curbs within the hour.

Not that Dimitri was _all_ that surprised since Felix had _always_ been a fast learner. And it’s not like he’d had anything else to do but adapt to his new mode of movement. He was probably already planning ways to spar on wheels.

Annette had come to them during brunch (because it was honestly far too late to call it breakfast) to tell them that she was leaving and Felix and thrown himself at Dimitri with a shout.

“Lift!!!”

And then he’d been plopped back into his wheelchair.

It was only a matter of time until Felix’s legs were healed enough to allow him to get back in and out of his wheelchair alone, so Dimitri made mental notes of just how _cute_ it was for Felix to rely on him. Just for now.

They’d made their way out of the dining hall and to the steps before the busy streets, and Annette had starting chatting away about her expectations for the journey.

Now Annette was hugging Felix goodbye as some of her men loaded her carriage with the little luggage she had brought with her for the war. Inside the carriage, Gustave was pointedly ignoring them all, opting to stare into the empty seat in front of him, which would presumably be occupied by his daughter soon.

“Goodbye your highne- uhh,,” She blushed, “Your majesty!”

“Please Annette,” He began to console, but she interrupted him, most likely without realising it.

“I’m gonna board now! So I’ll see you guys whenever I can come visit Fhirdiad!” She looked over at the entrance to see Mercedes in the entryway, walking forwards with a matronly smile.

She older woman came forwards and rest a hand on Annette’s shoulder gently, as if her arm were a curtain draping over it, and made eye contact with her friend.

“Are you going too Mercedes?” Felix asked, getting straight to the point.

“Why yes, I am Felix! But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to come and visit you as soon as you make it to Fhirdiad. That way we can do some embroidery together!” She smiled, all flowery.

From the look on Felix’s face, he’d forgotten all about it.

“Sounds great.” He said, unsure. “So why’re you going with Annette, you aren’t going to stay and arrange flowers with Manuela?” ‘Like I’m being forced to?’ His face said. Dimitri snickered.

“Because I love her very much, and I think it would be nice to meet her family, to make everything official.”

Dimitri and Felix both went wide-eyed. “Official…?”

Annette and Mercedes dramatically gasped at each other, making eye contact as they did so. Annette broke out into an infectious grin.

“Did we not tell you?” She said smugly, “We’re together now!!”

“Oh! Congratulations.” Felix said, as enthusiastically as he usually was.

“Thank! You!” Annette punctuated childishly, bending over to look straight in Felix’s eyes, which made him feel very small in his wheelchair, and then giggling boyishly.

“Alright Annie!” Mercedes waved her over, bringing her to the door of the carriage, “Let’s go then!”

And with that, they were gone.

Felix looked a little blank, perhaps stunned.

“We’ll see them again in a few weeks.” Dimitri assured.

Felix nodded and then craned his neck to look up at Dimitri, “I hate being down here, having to look up at you like this.”

“Haven’t you always?” Slipped out before he could stop himself and Felix growled at him. It wasn’t filled with the usual malice, or even the usual Felixian spirit.

A cold breeze blew past them and rustled through Felix’s fringe. He remained stone-faced.

“What’s wrong?” Dimitri’s eye flickered about Felix’s form.

“…” Felix shrugged, ever so slightly, and clasped his hands together tightly, rubbing his thumbs together. “Got therapy today.”

“It isn’t hard.” Dimitri said softly, thinking back to his good counsellor who had been run out of Fhirdiad for the crime of doing her job well. “Not when you have someone who really cares.”

“What if they don’t?”

Dimitri turned his head pensively, jerking it at an angle, as if he were shrugging with his head. His eye fixed itself on the white cloud that rolled by.

“They’re a specialist for anger management, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Then they’ll be used to people like you.”

“But what if they don’t care about me?”

“If they care about people _like_ you I don’t see why they wouldn’t care for you.”

“What if they just don’t like… me…?”

Dimitri shrugged and then paused. He drew his cape around himself to block out the cold that shot through them when the wind disrupted them, and then sat down besides Felix. Right on the dirty floor.

“Get up.” Felix snapped, his brows drawing together and immediately making him feel more authentic again.

Dimitri didn’t get up.

He looked onwards, to the market, to the children yelling offers at potential buyers, in order to help out their parents’ businesses.

“What, or rather, who _is_ Felix?” He asked. “Because anger isn’t a personality trait.”

“Well then I’ve no clue.” He grumbled darkly.

Dimitri huffed and smirked. “Really? Because I do.”

“Of course you do. Sap.”

But a little smile was growing on his face.

“Felix is very kind and loves all of his friends very much, he always tells the truth, and he does what he wants with no regard for rules because he is very much his own boss. Felix never gives up, and is very cute, and has a very sharp-”

“Shhhhhut up the whole town will hear you.”

Dimitri laughed. “Of course they will!” He stood up, raising his voice, “I’ll yell it from the balconies of Fhirdiad castle!”

Not a single head turned their way but Felix turned into a strawberry and manoeuvred around to scoot his way back inside, ashamed regardless.

Dimitri’s booming laughter followed after him as the two made their way back inside.

-

Felix felt only a little like a roasted pig on a flamboyant trolley as he wheeled his way down the aisle in his, now royally decorated, wheelchair. He was in his smaller, foldable chair, not the one he and Sylvain had put together a year ago which pulled his legs closer to his chest and forced him to lean forwards in his seat.

He really loved that chair, though Dimitri had been horrified the first time he’d caught Felix racing down the hallways of the castle, terrorizing the staff with his three-wheeled speedy monstrosity. He still remembers Sylvain apologising profusely to the king for putting the idea of a faster, deadlier chair into Felix’s head; but it was too late by that point. The swordsman had decided to finally try out lances, and had quickly become a fan of jousting (because of the lack of manoeuvring necessary to win), and was already practicing his skills at the sport by trying to be both the horse and knight at once. He tore down the corridors and then raised his broom, and yet another maid shrieked as she exited a room only to be almost decapitated.

He had one other chair, but he was still getting used to it. It had no wheels, and instead hovered around using fans which ran on thunder magic, which Felix could perform with his decent proficiency in magic. The idea was to allow him to move about without using his hands, but he tended to only use it for practice sparring, since keeping his magic going constantly was far more exhausting than just pushing himself along.

Which was what he was doing now.

He saw the pro- Archbishop standing before the white and gold altar he was approaching slowly, in their gold and purple (quite hideous in Felix’s opinion but whatever) robes. He then looked over slightly to the left, to see Dimitri in his navy blue suit with his hair in a low ponytail and a big smile on his face. _That silly boar._

Next to him, Sylvain was wearing a maroon suit with a cream shirt, whilst Felix himself was stuck in a white suit and black shirt, with a little blue lily in his pocket and a veil over his head. He didn’t look very dainty despite the flowers, mostly because he’d rolled his sleeves up and had the demeanour of someone forced to attend the wedding rather than that of one of the grooms.

Speaking of flowers, some had been placed too close to the back of his chair, which meant that they were getting torn off as he tossed his hands as far back on the wheel as they would go to get a good spin. He thought that it might look a little clumsy, to have the blue and white lilies scatter across the floor as he went, but judging by the eyes of the great many people invited, it was assumedly deliberate.

He got to the front of the church and turned to Sylvain, unsure of how he was meant to be dismissed.

Sylvain threw his head back dramatically and put his hand to his heart.

“I’m sure if your family were here, they’d be very proud of you for your achievements, and for your love, o Duke of-”

“Fuck off.” Felix bit out, but his eyes were soft, not genuinely angry, and he made the audience laugh rather than wince.

“Alright.” Sylvain said, and spun round theatrically before making his way off to the side, presumably to find a seat somewhere in the audience…. Or something.

Felix probably should have looked at the plan.

From the corner of his eye he could see Dimitri’s upturned lips; bastard probably knew full well that Felix was completely lost.

He said as much to him.

“I did give you the programme earlier.” He replied.

Felix gave him a displeased look.

Dimitri just shrugged.

“I lost the vow sheet.” The archbishop announced suddenly, looking only mildly inconvenienced.

Felix and Dimitri just gaped at them.

“Just say ‘I do’.”

So they did.

Felix was about to rejoice about the lack annoying rituals he’d have to undergo, and he was already ready to turn around and leave, when Seteth came scurrying up the aisle with a pile of papers.

_Oh joy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhhhh, yh. Next chapter soon. It'll be shorter than the others, just a last little tidbit, yanno.  
> I remember getting to this point whilst writing and thinking 'Shit. I really wrote all this when my original intention was to just talk about Dimitri braiding flowers into Felix's hair and that getting recorded in a diary and embarassing Dimitri and THAT DIDN'T EVEN END UP MAKING THE CUT-'
> 
> Also.... Ik i don't really deserve it but uh....   
> [splays out on the floor with hands raised]  
> Pls give me comentz, i rite so long. pls sir, give coment.


End file.
